l'étoile
by dee-thequeenbee
Summary: from the prompt: robin is a time traveler and regina is an immortal. they find each other, but their relationship may be more difficult than anticipated, because they can only meet one day per year: at christmas. written for the 2018 oq advent calendar.


_a|n: this was my contribution to the amazing oq advent calendar. you'll find the other gifts at , check them out because they're absurdly wonderful!  
as always, this stays as an open verse, so if there's something you wish to read about in this universe, feel free to drop me a prompt.  
_

 _happy holidays to all,_

 _xx Dee_

* * *

 **L'Étoile**

 _A philosopher once asked,  
Are we human because we gaze at the stars, or do we gaze at them because we are human? _

_Pointless, really…_

 _Do the stars gaze back?  
Now, that's a question…_

 _._

 _._

 _December 24th, 2023._

 _17:46._

 _The outskirts of Kittilä, Finnish Lapland._

 _67°39′25″N 24°54′30″E_

.

Blue.

She has never noticed, until now, how blue the sky is. How much blue there is and how little are the stars that punctuate it. She breathes out, in, out, slowly, her heart adjusting to the rhythm and gravity of this weird land. The rocks and pebbles are hard on her back, where she's laying down, they are annoyingly sharp to her fresh skin.

Her ankle hurts.

Funny, how you gain a human body and immediately have one of its parts broken. If it is not her luck.

She closes her eyes, shutting out the night sky, and focuses on her breaths.

In, and out.

She doesn't want to look at the sky. She already misses it.

Home.

She should get up, sooner or later. She should… she should do a lot of things, but her ankle hurts and she's thirsty, and breathing is painful. A tear slips out, from her closed eyes. She's here since moments – minutes, or maybe hours, and she's already tired. And the Moon isn't even shining tonight. She doesn't even get that small comfort.

 _I want to go home_.

She should get up. At least. Get up. It seems a titanic challenge, right now, so she postpones it to later, considers the idea of – sleeping? She will just watch the blue sky, for now. It requires plenty of energy, just – breathing, and looking at the sky, and missing home. She doesn't even know where she is. Just that the sun isn't shining, and there is no one around. No one to help.

A sigh escapes her lips, the urge to cry stronger than ever as she looks to her side. The rocks surrounding her are grey and brown and black, but a bit further there's grass, and white trees all around. Her fall has dug a crater.

Her eyes close again, she fully intends to keep them closed till she'll die. Even if her rational mind knows it's not possible, that she's immortal, and condemned to stay until the Moon will call her back home, the exhaustion takes in.

Until…

"Milady?"

She winces, eyes opening again, her gaze falling onto the man who's looking at her with curious eyes. She frowns, confused, even a little scared, because she thought she was alone, and isn't ready to meet a human yet.

"You're injured," he says, easily, crouching down next to her. "Regina, what happened? Did you just… Oh."

She keeps looking at him, her head spinning with confusion. "Who… who are you?"

He tilts his head, and she thinks she can see a wave of sadness washing over his eyes for a moment. "You don't know me, right?"

"I most certainly do not," she huffs, and tries to prop herself up on an elbow, an instant sting of pain shooting through her bones. "Who are you and why are you so keen on irritating me right now?"

"I'm… your friend," he answers after a brief pause. "You don't know me, but you will in the future, trust me." He smiles, but she knows better than to let a human fool her.

"Trust you?" She pushes down on the rocks with her palm, trying to reach a sitting position. The world sloshes around her eyes for a second, then goes back to the right places. "Why should I? I don't know you."

"Because you don't have any other choice right now," he answers. "We're in the middle of a forest and it's about to snow, you don't know where you are and you're weak. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already."

"Reassuring," she murmurs, her gaze dropping down. Her mind screams to her, that she's foolish, trusting the first person she sees, but her instinct knows he's not going to harm her. "Alright," she decides, looking up to him, her chin tipped up haughtily. "So bring me wherever it is you're hiding during the… snow."

"Of course, milady," he says, getting up with ease. "Are you coming or not?" he looks at her, when she doesn't follow.

"I… twisted my ankle – or broken it, I don't know," she admits. "I… need help getting up."

"Of course," he says, the hint of a smile at the corner of his lip – what's so funny about a broken ankle, she doesn't know. He crouches down again and passes a hand around her shoulder, propping her up and holding her weight as she lifts herself up. "Can you limp?"

She tries – pushes lightly on the injured ankle and grimaces. "I don't think so. I'll have to jump around like a fool – "

The man shakes his head, and bends down, and before she can even utter a word, he's lifted her in his arms.

"Wait – what – put me down, I can manage!"

"Yes, I know," he grunts, starting to walk. "But for now, hush, and enjoy using me as your personal carriage, _your Majesty_."

"By Diana, you sure are irritating," she bites her lip, trying not to show how much his irregular pace is bothering her and her ankle. "Are you sure I grew fond of you? You are sure you've not mistaken me for another?"

"I am quite sure, milady," he says, starting to climb the crater. She looks down, worried. If they don't end up rolling down the hill, they're lucky. But his steps are steady like his arms around her, and – the snow is just starting to fall, small droplets of white descending to rest slowly on his shoulders. She touches one, curious. It melts instantly, and she doesn't even feel the cold sensation.

"What is your name, by the way?" she murmurs. "Since you know mine already."

"My name is Robin," he smiles, as if it's an inner joke she can't yet grasp. "But I'll tell you more when we reach the house, don't worry."

"The house?"

"That house," he motions with his chin, and she turns – just a bit further from the clearing, there's a cabin, with promising lights at the windows and a stash of logs on the outside. "Welcome to my humble abode, Regina."

He steps inside, still holding her, but she manages to see just a glimpse of the room before he rushes to the sofa and gently lays her down. "Thank you," she breathes, only now realizing how uncomfortable she's been until now, how cold and tired she is, and how much she wishes to… sleep? Is it sleep, the sensation of tiredness in her bones and brain? The logs crackle in the fireplace, and Robin goes to shut the door, closing out the snow she can still see from the window.

He comes next to her, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the sofa, and his hand lifts to cup her cheek. "You'll have to excuse me and my boldness," he apologies. "But I have missed you, and I am so glad to see you safe and sound." He leans on and presses a kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment before he moves away.

He's looking at her with such… intensity, that she feels a weird prickling at the corner of her eyes, and wetness on her cheek before she can realize what's happening.

She brushes away the tear quickly, and he doesn't comment on it as he gets up, and tells her, "Now rest, milady. I'll draw a bath for you, and then you can change your clothes, but for now I'll just see to your ankle for a quick moment, and I'll let you sleep."

She nods, wordlessly, still overwhelmed by this amount of emotion she sees in him, in his actions and words, because she has known him since minutes and it already feels like it's eons more than that. She watches, as he lifts oh so gently her ankle, places it down on two pillows and starts poking it with delicate fingers.

"Tell me what you feel."

"It hurts," she grits her teeth, as he makes her foot rotate, and she has to stifle a cry.

"It's just twisted, not broken," he decides. "It should heal in no time. You'll see." He seems awfully confident in his words, and yet worried – she thinks – as he leaves her be to start her bath. She slips in and out of sleep as he works, water running smoothly in a sort of bath tub, waits for him to be ready. She has been lucky. Of course, falling during a snow storm was not ideal, wasn't it? And her eyelids are so heavy, her limbs so annoyingly useless, she's almost sleeping when he touches her shoulder.

"Your bath is ready, milady," he smiles, and she's about to get up from the sofa when he stops her, slides down next to her and helps with her foot. The amount of his kindness almost makes her cry again, of relief, or maybe just for the pain she's been feeling, a slow pulsing movement from her bones.

For the first time, she notices her dress.

It's of a silvery fabric, draped perfectly over her human form, actually comfortable, even though not so warm – and it gives her a brand new problem, she cannot bathe with her dress on.

"Robin, I…" she hesitates. "My dress…"

"Oh," he says, his brow furrowing. "I – wait," he tells her, and reaches for a white towel. "Sit again," he instructs. "I'll turn, don't worry. You can wrap yourself in the towel when you're done with taking off your dress. I assume you won't accept my help – after all, we just met…"

She feels her cheek heating, because – how dare he, to assume she has the same culture-imposed quirks as a human woman, and yet she doesn't want him to – but not because she's ashamed, or not confident, or any other stupid human excuse – but because this body is new to her, and the thought of baring it to him already…

"Yes," she agrees quietly. "Give me a moment, please."

He's a true gentleman, she thinks, her gaze fixated on his back as he waits for her. Loyal, and kind, for what she has seen until now. She can see why she will like him in the future. Who knows what he meant – that he seems to already know everything about her. This slippery slope they're in, this profound inequality where she has yet to learn everything about his soul, and yet it looks like he already knows hers by heart.

"You can look now."

He exhales, she hears him, and turns slowly, the pain in his eyes deep for a glance before he schools his features into something more gleeful. "Well your bath awaits, milady," he says, and resumes his valiant effort of getting her on her feet.

The water is warm and pleasant as he helps her down, with the towel expertly, gradually being lifted as she sinks between bubbles and soap. She closes her eyes and breathes, relieved, because this is what she needed, she sees it now – then opens them again and looks up to find his amused smile.

"Oh, hush," she requests, stretching her healthy leg. "This is heavenly. I hadn't realized how cold I was until now. This body surely is weird."

"Glad to assist," he bows his head, mockingly. "While you enjoy your warm water, I'm going to start on your very first dinner. Is there something you'd like to eat?"

She doesn't miss a beat, surprised at how easy it is to banter with him. "I assume it'll go much quicker if you tell me what my… future self likes to eat. That way, I'll be sure it's approved by the person with the best taste in the room."

He quirks his eyebrows, a small smile appearing on his lips. "Point taken," he agrees. "Well then, milady, I shall get to work. Incidentally, I already brought here the ingredients, you see. I had a feeling you'd say that."

And at some point, she probably falls asleep in the bath tub – she's just so tired – who knew falling from the sky could have been so exhausting? And yet the Moon chooses wisely, for between all her daughters she finds the most resilient ones and sends them down, to watch over humanity and diffuse a kind light…

"Regina?"

Her eyes open.

"Dinner's ready."

She has spent more time than intended in the tub, because almost all the bubbles are gone, her feet planted solidly on the bottom and she rises, him still turned towards the kitchen, water dripping down as she grabs the towel and dries her upper parts and then notices – she is standing.

"Robin, I'm standing. It… it doesn't hurt anymore."

The disbelief of her voice causes him to turn. "Already," he says, satisfied. "Well then, dry up. Wouldn't want your food to go cold."

He doesn't offer an explanation, although she didn't ask for one – after all, he did say they'd talk soon – so she steps out the tub and eyes a chair with a pile of clothes, that he has supposedly got ready for her while she slept her tiredness off. There's a soft sweater, grey and white, long and comfortable, and a pair of black panties and socks and pants, and she could actually cry for his thoughtfulness, as he abandons the food to go and rekindle the fire. She pours herself water, and her finger touches the cool bottle of wine before Robin comes and takes it from her.

"Better not – yet," he says with a kind smile. "So, here's your favorite – risotto with prawns and courgettes, I hope you'll like it. I did my best."

She smiles at him, still completely overwhelmed, and takes a bite from her fork. It is good – it's an explosion of taste in her mouth, and she closes her eyes to better savor it. When she opens them, Robin still hasn't touched his food.

"I love it," she says, and this seems to appease him, because he starts eating, always observing her, with such an intensity that is almost worrying. Until she asks, "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong," he shakes his head and drinks some wine, gulping down before he talks again. "I just… I can't believe you're right here, in this time and place and… god, I missed you, Regina."

She laughs lightly, pushing a prawn on a corner of her plate. "You know, it is a bit unfair that you know… everything about me, and I know nothing of you."

"I'll explain it all," he says. "I promise. But for now, the less you know, the safer you are."

"What? Why?"

"Not yet," he tells her, almost pleading. It looks like it is serious, after all – that he really feels something for her, and – only now she realizes he's worried about her, about something she did – or has yet to do.

"Alright then," she agrees easily. "So, what happens next? What should we do?"

The laughter comes back in his eyes, and for the first time she's taken aback by how attractive he is. She has noticed before, of course. She's not… blind. But for some inexplicable reason, in this moment she sees a glimpse of why she will, most likely, fall for this man.

"Always straight to the point, I see," he says. "Well then. If you agree to it, we… will spend tonight and tomorrow together, and I'll make you discover the beauties of this land. And then… don't worry, everything's been taken care of."

"Why just two days?" she replies, "you can't stay longer? What's so special about tomorrow?"

"Well for starters, it is Christmas – I assume you know what that is," he says, throwing information at her like crumbles to birds. She takes it all, adds it to the brief list of what she knows. "And no, I'm afraid I would overstay. I must leave tomorrow when the first stars will start shining."

"Oh," she can't help the feeling of disappointment, as he carefully studies her reaction.

"But… eat, Regina. I don't want to distract you from the food I've so meticulously put together."

"The gods forbid," she murmurs, her attention turning back to the dish. "Look, Robin…"

"Yes?"

"I appreciate you saving my life, really," she starts. "But… if I'm an inconvenience, or…"

"No!" he exclaims, so sudden, startling her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he says, keeping his voice down. "I just… I wish I could explain everything to you, I wish we were both on the same page. I… I am afraid to leave you, tomorrow, because… you know so little, you're not expert of this land yet, and I don't mean to scare you – but there are dangers you can't even imagine, and…"

"I'm going to stop you right there," she says, lifting her hand. "Let's just eat."

An embarrassed silence falls between them. He drinks awkwardly his wine, and she eyes the glass curiously, wondering why he didn't let her have some. She focuses on her food, on the water that, alone, is so weird on her tongue – so weird to know she needs it, that she wouldn't survive long without it. This body seems to be so ephemeral, and fragile.

She looks out the window, and – now, now the Moon is shining, her radiant bright light sends a blissful jolt in her veins. Quicksilver, the essence of her being, and she realizes she's lost herself in thought when Robin coughs gently.

"I think you should sleep right away, after dinner," he offers. "You – I know that the… fall must have been… must have taken quite the toll on you."

"Alright," she shrugs. She maybe has become colder with him, but really, could he blame her after he's saved her life and then proceeded not to tell her anything about why he's found her, or he knows her?

He checks his watch – a silvery, shining thing, as if he's worried about something, and she asks, "What time is it anyway?"

"Six o'clock," he tells her. "The sun shines for four hours here, during winter. Just around midday, and then nothing more."

"Oh," she nods. Then watches down on her plate. "I… think I'm full now, if –" she doesn't say it, but, is it the right word for when her stomach is knotted, and she can't breathe properly and not even another mouthful of rice will accept to be eaten?

"Of course," he says. "Well… your bed, it's in there," he points at a nearby door, and then blushes, "I suppose it's still early to share."

She raises an eyebrow at him, and says, "Well, I suppose it is. Unless you want to?"

He looks at her and shakes his head, then smiles, takes her hand. "Regina, I meant what I said," he says. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, in any way. I just… this is terribly difficult for me."

"But why?" she says, frustrated.

He smirks, ignoring her mounting rage. (Is it rage, that red feeling inside her chest?)

"Come on," he tells her, tugs at her hand. She follows, so tired, exhausted of his secrets. "Fine," she growls, displeased. He doesn't answer.

When her head hits the pillows, she's asleep in seconds.

.

She wakes to a still-black sky and the soft glow of a lamp beside her. There's a pleasant smell in the air. Her limbs are sore, tired, her pillow is humid and – has she… cried?

Her stomach hurts. Actually, it's not her stomach – it's a pressure down there, next to her stomach, so she sits up, pressing her hands on her belly.

"I forgot to tell you," Robin's voice says, sudden and unexpected from the door. He's standing, a mug between his hands. "I'll… you need to use the bathroom, I suppose."

"Yes, it's that," she says, smiling, relieved that she's uncovered the mystery. Of course, she knew humans need the bathroom every now and then, but couldn't quite link the sensation she's feeling with the actual problem.

He leaves the mug and accompanies her, leaves her there discreetly, and she thinks she'll need time to learn, her head in her hands, another tear slipping down as she realizes he won't be there to help, that in a few hours she'll be alone in this hostile world.

A soft glowing light starts creeping between the window's curtains, bathing the room in a pink shade. The dawn, she realizes, her hand touching her arm as the pink and orange tones color her skin. The sun is kind, doesn't burn her. The sun is one of her sisters, she would harm her human body, maybe, but not her soul, she would be gentle and offer a cure for her wounded heart while the Moon can't be there for her.

"Regina?"

A knock at the door, she says, "Yes, just a moment," and gets up, dresses herself and cleans her hands.

He looks worried, she thinks.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he says, checks his watch again. "Come, I made you breakfast."

"Alright," she tells him, rolling her eyes, then walks past him to the kitchen. There are pancakes on the table, tea poured into a fuming mug, and fruit, juice, yogurt, all those foods she's always observed and never tried.

"Is it alright?" he asks, nervously. "I can make something else…"

"No, no, it's perfect," she tells him. "Don't fuss so much, I will be fine."

She sits down, and surprisingly, he doesn't join her. He stands with his mug between his hands, watching her with the glint of a smile in his eyes, and she understands why when she sees the wrapped package next to her tea cup.

"I got you a present," he says. "I know you don't know me and all, but I wanted you to have it early anyway – in case something happens and… well, and I can't give it to you before leaving."

She turns to him, puzzled. "Why would something happen?"

"When you've lived the adventures and dangers I've lived, you'll see something could always happen. I've had to learn to make the most of the little time I get to spend with… those I love the most."

There's a mounting sensation of pain in her throat, as she watches him pronounce these words. As if something was squeezing her, she feels the sting of tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "If I am one of those people you say you love… I'm sorry I ever hurt you."

She's even more pained when he nods gravely, a lonely tear slipping out his eyes. "You're still so innocent," he tells her wistfully. "And this is what pains me the most, that someone like you – " his hand goes up to her cheek, and he strokes his thumb on her skin, "will have such a hard life, and it'll be my fault."

"Don't –" she bites back a sob, the first tear leaking down her cheek. "Don't say that," she begs. "Will I… will I be happy, during those hard times? Will I love, and smile, and find beauty in kindness and small acts of generosity?"

"You will," he promises her. He lowers down, to sit next to her and takes her into his arms. His touch is welcomed and needed, as he brings her against his chest and lets her cry, strokes her hair and cries with her. "This should be a joyful day, and I'm ruining it. I'm sorry," he whispers.

"Why does this feel like a goodbye?" she asks, eyes closed, not daring to open them. Because if she does, she could see his eyes, and maybe see the truth she doesn't really want to know.

"It's not," he tightens his hold around her shoulders. "Not for you, at least. You'll have a special life, an amazing life, Regina. Don't let my somber mood dampen what should be one of the happiest days of the year."

"Alright," she nods. Her head is still against his chest, and she suddenly feels so tired. Human emotions are draining, it turns out, and even though she has slept for hours, it didn't do anything to help her adjust to her new heart.

"Eat now," he urges her, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. "And then we can go have some fun outside. The sun is out, and the scenery is pretty much spectacular."

.

She finds herself bundled up into a scarf and coat, snow shoes at her feet as she follows Robin outside. The trees are bare, the sun shines with a pale glint, and she tastes for the first time what it means to live where it's freezing cold. Robin is calling her, probably, but she's too busy admiring the nature around her. It's all so silent, so quiet and not a soul is moving. It reminds her of her life before – before the fall, it seems to be so far away in time and yet it was yesterday. The glow of the sun against the snow makes it shine like a diamond, and she takes a couple of steps, sinking into fresh snow, her footprints leaving a trail as she distances herself from the house.

 _It takes courage, to be leaving home_ , the Moon whispers into her ear. _My child, don't be afraid_.

She nods to herself, as she finally looks at the man who saved her and who's destined to share a part of her future.

"Regina," he tells her, it comes out of a reverie, and she nods, stepping ahead towards him, taking the hand he's offering, and following him to whatever destination he's planned for them. Turns out blind trust is easier than she imagined.

"Are you cold?" he asks, his fingers intertwining with hers despite the gloves they're wearing.

"No, I'm fine," she answers. "You really dressed me up for the occasion."

"I want you to get the best experience possible," he says, all serious, and she has to stifle back a laugh because he's adorable, and he's so cute and focused on her well-being, and her heart already aches for him.

"So… where are we going? Is it far?"

He shakes his head, points to a small hut in the distance. "Just there. I hope you'll believe me when I say this entire couple of days has been perfectly planned."

"By whom?" she asks, even though she knows it must have been him.

He looks at her, curiously, tilts his head. "By the best, of course," he says. "By you."

She widens her eyes, but before she can react, they've reached the hut and he's already fishing out the keys to the wooden door. She wants to ask questions, but knows he probably won't answer, so she doesn't. Instead, she looks at her surroundings – there's a small lake, next to the hut, its frozen surface glistening under the sun, a small boardwalk leading to the center.

Robin opens the door and steps aside, letting her see the interior.

"Merry Christmas, Regina."

She steps in, into the darkness, as if she were coming home, and takes in her surroundings when he lights up the lamp. It's small, entirely made of wood, and there are benches and cabinets and nothing else, apart from another door. He says nothing but looks at her, and she glares back, puzzled, when she sees he's starting to slip out his snow boots and his coat. It's hot, in this room, she realizes.

"You can… take off the clothes now," Robin says, a hint of blush on his cheeks. She notices how he won't look at her, but rather goes behind a wooden panel to leave her some privacy. Confusion swirls in her mind to the point that she's almost saddened by it, but she still shrugs away the pants and coat and all the layers he made her wear. When she reaches the last shirt, she stops, wondering how much she should leave behind and how much to keep. And in that moment, Robin emerges from behind the panel, and her heart stops for a second.

He's – well – almost naked, a white towel covering him, but her gaze roams his toned muscles, her eyes looking up to his amused look.

"See something you like, darling?"

Heat goes up her cheeks as she raises an eyebrow, and answers, "A bit early to be so blunt, isn't it?"

"I don't have bad intentions," he smiles, and offers her his hand. "Come on. Trust me."

She stills for a moment, his eyes so bright and calm, and her heart somersaults when she realizes how much she trusts him already. She nods, and takes away her shirt, throwing it between the pile of clothes she's lost, knots a towel around her waist, and then takes his hand.

.

It's hot.

He clearly came here earlier to turn on the heating, because as she steps inside, a wave of warmth hits her and it's like being herself again, it's a burning sun – or at least, the closest to complete heat she could hope to feel with this new body, the –

"… closest experience to being completely warmed up that this planet can offer, milady," he says, stepping in behind her. "Someone told me you miss it already."

She nods, wordlessly, a single tear falling down her cheek. The heat fills her bones, her heart, her everything, and he must be burning up – but for her, she is just _fine_ , she feels a rush of energy go straight through her whole body and she looks at her fingertips, almost expecting to see them sparkling. She watches him sit on a wooden bench, as he pours water on the stones in the middle of the room. It gives a wave of steam she didn't expect, but is welcomed anyways.

"I… thank you," she breathes out, because she may have been the one to get this idea – at least, her future self, but still, "You didn't have to do this for me."

"Come here," he invites. As she sits next to him, he weaves their fingers together and looks down at her. "This is your Christmas gifts from me, and I wanted you to enjoy it. I wanted you to have a taste of home, so that your… arrival… will be less painful. And – Regina, I want us to share good memories, even if it must be for a short time."

She nods again, questions burning on the tip of her tongue, but she's given up about trying to get some answers from him, so she doesn't even ask. Waits in silence, staring ahead, and the silence is actually nice and comfortable as they don't try to fill it awkwardly. Sometimes, he pours some more water, but never leaves her hand.

And then he asks, "Now are you ready for the second part?"

Regina lifts her eyebrow, uncertain. "I didn't know there was a second part."

"There is," he says, a glint of mischievous excitement in his eyes. "Now, I need you to have a very open mind. I know the experience doesn't sound… very appealing, but I promise you're going to love it."

"Alright…" she says, hesitant. "I… I'm not sure I trust this experience, as you call it, with this kind of introduction…"

"I know it's still hard to trust me, but… trust me, this definitely is worth doing. Need I remind you that the person who drafted our program, after all, has been – will be you?"

"It would be implying I trust my future self," she smiles. "Which I, incidentally, don't."

"Too bad," he sighs, faking sadness. "I guess I will go all alone then. I'll be sure to send you a postcard."

" _Alright_ ," she says, getting up from her seat, pushing behind her ear a sweaty lock of hair. "Show me this marvelous experience, you insufferable man."

.

He holds her hand all the way down to the lake, their slippers thumping against the wooden tiles which have been cleared from the snow. She thinks she knows where this is going – she has spent millennia observing humans and their silly behaviors, after all, so it won't be a complete surprise – but still, she is hesitant as Robin leads her down towards the end of the boardwalk.

"Now don't freak out," he tells her. "But… I'll go first, and then you can follow. Or do you want to go first? She hasn't, I mean you, haven't specified this…"

"Robin," she whispers, so low that he stops to look at her. "Calm down. It's okay, I'm not afraid."

"You're not?" he says, disbelieving. And… she's not. The air is so still here, gentle caresses of wind against her still-warm skin, and she doesn't feel the cold, but a pleasant sensation of warmth all over her body, and it's like this induced heat is tricking her body to believe they still sit in the sauna. The lake is crystal clear, its surface perfectly frozen, except for the hole Robin has broken near a small ladder.

"I'm not afraid," she confirms, squeezing his hand. "I've got you, right?"

"Right," he says, seeming relieved. "Alright then… ladies first, before we become icicles."

Regina nods, and leaves his hand, turning to face the ladder. It will bring her down to the hole of freezing water. With an encouraging nod from Robin, she turns again and starts descending the steps – not too slowly, but her body has slowed down, in fact, to the point that she feels her every single cell screaming for attention. The first contact with water it's – it's like burning, burning of quicksilver, and the acceleration of time stops and lets her dip her feet in, then her legs and down to her arms but Robin warns, _not the head!_ , so she stops, and all the ice needles suddenly hit her skin and leave her breathless.

She shivers, her hands curled around the wood of the ladder, then breathes in and out and watches as a single snowflake fall next to her hand.

Before she knows it, he has dragged her up from the ladder, the iced water's sudden disappearance leaving her empty, and he takes her place, telling her to go warm up inside, that she should start going as he dips, but she doesn't listen – entranced by the worry in his eyes, she watches as he goes down and then up, his tolerance of the water probably lower than hers, and then he exits and his abdomen is covered in tiny droplets that have her staring.

"Stop flirting and come inside, darling," he tells her, amused. She shakes her head, but follows him nonetheless. He doesn't need to know how attractive she finds him.

.

They've had some food, at some point, she recalls. And her gift is still wrapped on the table, still there and ready to be opened, but lies forgotten as she sits on the sofa, enjoying the warmth of a blanket and the steam curling up from her cup of tea. Robin is talking, of something that is absolutely trivial, and his voice is so pleasant her eyelids start to drop, until he gently places ahand on her arm.

"I'm sorry, milady," he says in a whisper. "I forgot how tired you must be. Falling down really took a toll on you."

"I'm alright," she smiles, sleep in her voice. "Keep talking, I like your voice."

He laughs softly, his fingers intertwining with hers. "I can read you a poem, if you want… as a lullaby, you know. It's called _The Midnight Heart_."

She squeezes his fingers in agreement, her eyes already closing as he starts, with a soothing murmur, he reads. " _We always knew there was no Orpheus in Ireland. No music stored at the doors of hell. No god to make it. No wild beasts to weep and lie down to it._

 _But I remember an evening when the sky was underworld-dark at four, when ice had seized every part of the city and we sat talking— the air making a wreath for our cups of tea. And I was listening to you. As if to music, as if to peace_.

 _And you began to speak of our own gods. Our heartbroken pantheon: no Attic light for them and no Herodotus._

 _But thin rain and dogfish and the stopgap of the sharp cliffs they spent their winters on. And the pitch-black Atlantic night. And how the sound of a bird's wing in a lost language sounded. You made the noise for me. Made it again._

 _Until I could see the flight of it: suddenly the silvery, lithe rivers of your south-west lay down in silence. And the savage acres no one could predict were all at ease, soothed and quiet and listening to you, as I was. As if to music, as if to peace._ "

When he stops, she's still awake, but he clearly thinks her asleep – as he bends in and presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. It's tender and makes her brand-new heart flutter, _as if to music, as if to peace_. He tucks up her blanket, gets up from the sofa. _Come back_ , she wants to tell him, because a part of her doesn't want to give him up just yet, butshe finally surrenders to sleep.

.

She wakes to silence, and a dark sky, and a roaring fire. There's a letter on her lap, above the blanket.

 _Regina_ , it reads.

"Robin?" she calls, but no one answers, and so she knows.

He's gone.

He told her it was going to happen – mentioned it, that their time together wasn't unlimited, but still. It hurts, it hurts something around the middle of her chest and to the depths of her stomach, and she realizes. It's fear. That new sensation – that churns her whole being as she looks outside the window, the pleasant warmth from earlier all but gone – that feeling is fear, and comes because for the first time since she fell, she's all alone.

Abandoned.

Robin is gone and who knows when she'll see him again – and who knows _if_ she'll see him again; and he's left her all alone on this strange planet that she knows but has never explored. She realizes just now how much she relied on him for her first hours on Earth, how much she counted on his experience and skills and – just – his company, and how much she misses him already.

 _Alone_ , her mind screams, her hand gripping the blanket.

Her fingers find the letter – she'd almost forgotten about it – as she rips it open, and his handwriting calms her down just a bit. She reads, with the words she's always seen from up above, with all the languages she knows because she's always existed as humans lived and she will live after humans are gone.

 _My darling Regina,_

 _I am sorry I had to leave,_ the letter says. _I am sorry we haven't had the chance of saying goodbye, but I loathed to disturb your rest, and quite frankly, I hate goodbyes. I know you must feel scared, right now. I feel like I had to leave you at the worst time possible but believe me, my dearest, it is better this way. You'll understand in time._

 _To help you with your arrival here, you can find your gift in the kitchen, and that will explain everything. Remember, you're not alone. I know we will see each other again very soon, in every sense of the term. Good luck with everything._

 _All my love,_

 _Robin._

And that's it.

That's all he left her, her – gift, and an empty house, and… nothing else.

The moon shines, against the black sky.

 _Courage, my child_.

Sighing, she gets up, and goes to open the damn gift.

– § –

 _December 24th, 1923._

 _23:47._

 _Lower East Side, New York_

 _40°43'2″N 73°59′23″W_

.

When he sees her for the first time, it's like a lightning.

No.

It's like a shooting star straight across his heart.

 _Regina_.

.

It's winter, in New York. It snows and the roads are covered in a white crust of danger and deliciously beautiful thrill. He's happy – happier than he has been in a very long time, because finally he's free. He's free to do what he has trained his whole life for. Finally, he can forget the dusty books he has studied until now and he can actually get into the field. Explore. Travel. See the entirety of time, research and understand, as any time traveler does. Do not interfere. Do not change history. These are the rules and he has always been one of the best – at least on paper. Because now, he will try and see if the world truly is wonderful as they've promised.

This is Robin's first mission, a rather easy one if he's being honest. Steal the jewel, report back to the base. Easy, simple. The target is one of the richest men in New York – and more specifically, his wife's necklace, that wears a diamond. He doesn't know why he has to steal it – they'll tell him afterwards, but he was so eager about finally getting to time travel, that he ignored logistics and went straight to the point.

He enters the pub with ease. He's appropriately dressed, after all, a tailored suit and crimson red tie, hat and cane and gloves, the chill of winter slithering though his bones just for a moment before he closes the door behind him, a couple of flurry snowflakes twirling alongside him.

He nods to the barman, makes a beeline for the back of the pub, around the storage room and down the stairs and up again, reaching the most hidden part of the building. Here, it smells like alcohol and smoke, excitement fizzling in his veins as he reaches the enormous man beside the door.

"The foxes made a great catch tonight," he tells to the man. His reaction is perfectly professional – he nods, and answers, "As will the lions tomorrow," and gets aside to push the door open for him. Robin thanks him with a nod, and enters the room, as if he's going inside a new world.

This clandestine gambling house is rather famous in the city. And yet, it seems no policeman can be good enough to get in undetected. Because what's better than hiding in plain sight? It's so much more than a gambling house, though – and they don't even suspect it, the forces of the law, that this is the to-go place to find alcohol during the Prohibition era, to listen to some good music and… women. Beautiful, available women who are, in fact, much freer than they'd be outside. Even the man he wants to rob is here for the women, while his wife plays blackjack and poker just a few meters further. And it won't be easy – he'll have to locate the woman first, and corner her for a moment, hoping her husband won't…

It's a pair of brown eyes that almost send him tripping against a waiter.

Robin has seen his fair share of women, in his life. After all, the years he's from _are_ quite enjoyable. But she… she is simply otherworldly, there's no other description, and a glance is enough to decide that the jewel – and his mission – has become the second priority this evening. He _has_ to find out who she is. He follows her – because it feels like he has already seen those eyes – and he doesn't know how is that even possible but it is, she is there and she is real, if her eyes were the stuff of dreams or he has seen them in a painting or –

He loses her for a moment, sighs in relief when her bare back comes into sight again, and then she disappears between the lights and the people and he knows. She doesn't want to be found, and if she'll want him to see her, she'll be the one to go to him.

So Robin does what it is best to do in times like that. He goes to the bar and orders a whiskey, neat. Sits there and waits, ignoring the women who try to speak to him, and most importantly, almost ignoring his mission. But there'll be time for that. He waits and swirls his glass and waits some more, stealing a glance or two towards the woman he has to rob. She's still playing poker at her table, Lady Eva Blanchard, elegant as the refined lady that she is, but – he realizes, horrified, that her neck is bare.

He blinks, a flash through his mind, that she hasn't worn it today, that his coming here has been useless and if she hasn't the necklace, it's futile to be here, his fingers in a grip around his glass, he gulps down the whiskey and is about to get up – and suddenly, a gloved hand covers his, and a sultry voice whispers into his ear.

"I didn't think I'd find you here, Agent Locksley."

He turns, and… it's _her_.

The woman.

Red lips and a glass of wine in her hand, a black dress and high heels, it's her, and she's looking at him like a panther who has seen her next prey.

He furrows his brow for a moment, then smiles at her, ever the gentleman. "Milady," he nods. "I don't think we've been introduced. And yet you seem to know me already."

He is watching her intently, as her face becomes puzzled for an instant, and then her perfect expression falls down like a crumbling mask. She looks… hurt, he notices. Unpleasantly surprised.

"You… you don't know me?"

"I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure yet, no," he says earnestly. "But I'd very much like to. And more so…" his hand goes up and grips her forearm, a startled cry exiting her lips, "All the more so, I'd like to know why you're wearing Eva Blanchard's necklace, and how is it that you stole it."

"I…" she seems at loss, stands still as he keeps her trapped, her eyes so inexplicably confused she's starting to make him feel sorry for her. But he won't fall for it: if she's a thief, he wants to know why she's stolen it, and whom she's working for.

"What do you say, you want to move this to somewhere more private?" Robin gets up, doesn't leave the vice-like grip.

"Fine!" she reacts, snatching her arm free, and she slams down the counter her half-empty glass of wine. "Let's go to the lounge, in the back," she says. Her voice is slightly shaky, but she keeps his gaze. "No one will disturb us there."

.

She was telling the truth. The lounge is in fact more private, a safe haven, with a Christmas tree in the corner and soft cushions on the sofas. And most importantly, it's empty.

She locks the door behind them, and motions for him to come and sit, as if she has no time to lose. Which, he supposes, is true.

"So," she says, as her gloved hands unclasp the necklace and she slides it into her purse. "Mr Locksley, I feel like we should introduce. After all, you were hoping to steal the same artifact I managed to take for myself."

"I can see that," he grumbles, and then he decides he should probably be more polite with her. "I can also see you already know me, milady. Care to tell me what your name is?"

"Regina," she says easily, with a slight bow of her head. "Very pleased to meet you. And… Merry Christmas, Agent Locksley."

"Thank you," he answers. She's still looking at him, he realizes. And it's – it looks like she's hurt, again, and what has he done now? How can he make it right? But maybe he can't, maybe it's not his job to make it right… maybe it doesn't have to do with him. But then, why is does she look like she's been kicked by fate? "Are… are you alright, Regina?"

It's the first time he says her name, and yet it sounds inexplicably right on his tongue.

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" she asks, ever the liar. "Now tell me what you were looking for here. I assume it wasn't for… company."

He shifts, uncomfortable all of a sudden. "No, it wasn't. I've been ordered to steal that jewel, milady," he explains. "And given that this is my first mission, I'd say it would be a shame not to send me home victorious, don't you think?"

"Oh I don't think so, no," she says, gets up and – she comes to sit next to him, with a smirk, and he suddenly gets a whiff of her perfume. "No, Agent Locksley, I think _I_ should be the one who keeps the jewel. After all, I've been the first one to take it, haven't I?"

"This conversation is quite pointless," he murmurs. The way her hand is sneaking up his arms doesn't go unnoticed, as Regina nears her lips to his ear.

"And why is that?" she whispers, frissons down his skin as she leans closer.

"Because…" he gulps, finding very hard to stay focused. "Because we both know I'm going to steal it back before the night ends. Perhaps…" he turns, finding her eyes much closer than he thought. "Perhaps while you're asleep, I'll just… slide my hand inside your purse and take it."

"Agent Locksley, we both know you won't do that," she purrs. "You're a gentleman, I know it. A thief and a liar, but a gentleman." Her hand rises to touch his cheek, her lips just millimeters close to his neck. "And a gentleman doesn't leave a lady asleep while he steals the hard labor of her handiwork. You haven't had to seduce Eva Blanchard under the eyes of her husband to get it, after all."

"Is that what you've done?"

"Why yes," she says, feigning surprise. "I am good at what I do."

Robin smiles, and circles her hand, as if to exchange a caress to her. "And what it is that you do, exactly?" And instead, he grips her wrist so tightly she yelps. His free hand recovers swiftly his gun, and Regina's smile falters and disappears. "I believe it's time for answers, milady."

"Put the gun down."

It's a demand, but there's the slightest tremble in her voice that tells him she's not so sure of herself as she'd like him to believe.

"Not yet, no," he says. She frees her arm, as she'd done earlier, and scoots away from him on the sofa.

"Robin, put the gun down. I'll tell you what you want to know but please, put it down. You would regret it, believe me."

"Maybe, but… maybe not," he muses. "And first… the necklace, if you please, milady."

She sends him the deadliest of glares, her eyes not daring to leave the gun, but anyway she turns and reaches for her purse, almost throwing him the jewel. "Happy now, you idiot?"

"Certainly," he tells her. "Now… tell me." His expert fingers load the gun, and Regina winces as he lifts it slowly. "And make it quick."

"I'll talk if you put the damn gun down."

"That's not up to you," he shrugs. "If you talk now, it'll be much easier, trust me."

"Alright."

He sees her take a deep breath, then force her gaze away from him and the gun and towards the Christmas tree, that keeps shining in a corner, unfazed.

"I know you're a time traveler," she starts. His hold on the gun tightens, as he tries not to let his jaw drop in surprise. "I… I've known you for quite some time now, and… you're the first person I've met when I arrived on this Earth."

"What do you mean?"

Her eyes glance in his direction for a moment, then she turns again towards the tree. "We met three times already, but… you were older. We keep meeting in the wrong order and I can't place why, and… it's maddening, because you – well, the older you – he knows so much of me and I don't know him, and… now I've just met the first version of you, the youngest one, and I… we should really work on a way to start meeting in the right order, because…"

"I got that," he interrupts. "I've figured as much. What I meant is, what do you mean you arrived on this Earth?"

"It's a long story," she looks at him, then at the gun, her eyes almost pleading. He sighs, and lowers it, the secure back in place as she visibly relaxes. "Thank you."

"I still want an answer."

He knows he's hurting her, with this cold behavior but frankly, he doesn't know her. Right now she's the competition. And a beautiful woman, a woman he'd like to know better, but he can't trust her just yet.

"I…" she hesitates, uncertain if she should tell him, if she can trust him – evidently. "What I meant was… I arrived on this Earth. I… I'm not a human being."

"What are you, then?" his voice is low and devoid of any judgment, lest she should get worried of his reaction.

"I… I'm…" another breath, and there it goes. "I'm a star."

"A star."

"Yes."

"As in… a real star? Not a… I mean, not figuratively?"

"A real star," she confirms. "The Moon sent me here. Every now and then, it happens. And… you were the one who found me. At least, your future self will. You saved me."

"That's how you trusted me at the start, I assume."

"I couldn't stand you for the first hour or so," she smiles. "But yes, I trusted you. I still do. It's… it was the only part of our relationship that isn't… tainted."

"Why?" he asks, reaching out for her hand. She flinches, maybe she was thinking he was going to grab the gun, but her fingers relax around his and she exchanges the touch. "What is tainting our… us?"

"There's a… problem," she says, and he notices she glances at the enormous clock above the fireplace. She sighs again, as if she's immensely saddened by his lack of affection for her. His heart hurts just a bit, when she lifts her beautiful eyes again. "I can't tell you why, because you'll have to discover it yourself, but… there's a… limitation. We can only be together… one day per year. At Christmas. From sunset to sunset, we can stay, but then we have to part ways."

Rage is already mounting up inside him, but Regina squeezes his hand. "I know," she murmurs. "I was… I was a wreck when I discovered it. Robin… well, the older you, he always leaves me before the sunset at Christmas, and… he never told me why, but then I knew," she adds. "It's because I told you to do it. And I understood that we had to do it… because he was already doing it."

"Is it normal that my head is hurting?" he asks, and she smiles through tears.

"Completely normal. You'll get used to it, I promise."

"Don't cry," he tells her, because suddenly he can't stand the idea of her suffering. It seems ironic, considered how he was ready to threaten her with a gun just minutes ago. "It's… horrible, and…"

"I'm sorry," she says, wiping away her tears, smudging the glove with badly dried make-up. "I shouldn't have told you."

"Let's… let's enjoy this Christmas day rather than crying, Regina," he proposes. "What do we normally do, at Christmas? Is there something you'd like to do?"

"To get the hell out of here," she says bitterly. And that will do, he thinks. He doesn't want her to cry about their sad destiny. She looks at the clock again, then at him. "Let's go. We can… use my hotel room, and stay there, just…"

"Sounds nice," he agrees. He thinks he shouldn't, that he has obligations to the Time Agency, but he supposes they can wait a few hours. As long as he returns with the jewel.

.

He wakes with a headache, in a empty bed.

Flashes of the day keep passing through his mind, like old black and white pictures.

They haven't made love. But rather, Regina has got rid of her black dress and exchanged it with a long, white shirt – it was comical, how she is so tiny that the shirt fell down to half her thigh, and she's come back with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"Bless you," he has said, grateful, because he needed a drink after the last revelations of the day. They've talked, and they've drunk, and cheered, and he has passed an arm around her shoulders, finding that she was a wonderful company, and that she – but it can't be – she was suddenly all blurred and her silhouette against the mirror wasn't so clear anymore, his eyes blinking and blinking as she has told him, _I'm sorry, Robin_ , and then it was – dark.

He wakes with a grunt, displeased when he notices she's not there.

His hand hits her side of the bed – that she hasn't even touched – and – there's a note there, in an elegant handwriting. He squeezes his eyes to read in the unforgiving light of a winter midday.

 _Robin,_

 _I'm sorry I had to go earlier, but it's better this way, believe me. I feel like I told you too much about me, and that was wrong. You'll have to forgive me about the little potion I've slipped inside your wine. And… sorry, I took the necklace. It has been wonderful to finally meeting you – for the first time._

 _Until next time_

 _Regina._

He stares at the page, confused.

Why did she cut their time short? And most importantly, why is there a dull, translucent light coming from the ink?

– § –

 _December 23rd, 391 AD._

 _22:32._

 _The Serapeum, Alexandria_

 _31°12′N 29°55′E_

.

She's anxious, today. She shouldn't be, she should be used to it. She already has a lot of things to be anxious about in her life, she doesn't need to add this one too. And yet... a lot of doubts come to her mind. That maybe she should have been clearer with her instructions. She should have told him in a more straight-forward way, instead of being all cryptic as she's used to. Too late now, she thinks. Now, she can only hope it has been enough, and she can only wait. A few more hours and she will have her answers.

But evidently, Robin has other ideas. Because when she feels a hand on her back, she flinches, startled.

"Merry Christmas, milady," she hears, that soft voice she's so fond of. And instead of welcoming him - she gets away, as if he has burned her.

"What are you doing here already?" she hisses, with an anger he doesn't deserve. "Today is the 23rd! You cannot be here already!"

"Shit, Regina, I'm sorry," he says, looking at her, with regret in his eyes. "I messed up. I must have set the wrong coordinates..."

"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, because they really don't have time. "Now go, quickly. I'll see you tomorrow when the sun sets. Stay in the Southern part of the city. I'm sorry I have to send you off so abruptly, but…" she suddenly exhales, her heart skipping a beat as he looks at her with concern. "We're minutes away. Go!"

One last glance and he goes, running down the stairs of the Serapeum as she presses two fingers on her wrist. Her heartbeat slowly normalizes, and she sighs as she sits again on the stairs.

The Moon keeps shining, unfazed by her daughter's troubles.

.

The day is long and boring. She spends it reading in the library, the African sun of winter is still pleasant on her skin. She skims through endless scrolls – because she may be restless, given that she'll see Robin soon enough, but she still has a mission here, and she doesn't intend to – to let her heart get in the way.

All her concerns fade, for just a moment, as a little boy approaches and leaves a small piece of parchment on her desk.

"Oh, uh – thank you," she tells him, surprised. "What is this?"

"A man told me to give it to you, he paid for my lunch!"

Regina smiles, because she knows exactly who that man is. She thanks the boy again, then watches as he runs away. She starts opening the parchment, unrolling it slowly, and she sees he's used the writing alphabet of this era.

 _I'm sorry about earlier. I miss you_.

She sighs, then lifts it close to her heart. It's going to be a long day.

.

She's at her favorite tavern, later, waiting for him. A solitary glass of wine waits next to hers, and… he's late, she thinks, watching the first stars appear. It doesn't sound good. And it's not so appropriate for Christmas either. They should be together in some quiet corner of the world, like when she first fell into this planet, and – then he left her earlier, and she wonders if – that's the case – _again_ …

"Regina," his voice greets, and she turns, already annoyed but also relieved, her heart fluttering for a moment, before catching sight of his frown. "Regina, you have to come with me. Something is not right."

She nods, wordlessly, who cares of her desires and of the fact that their time is so limited, after all. He takes her hand and drags her away, almost running, until they reach the stairs of the Serapeum.

"And?" she asks, turning towards him. "Robin, I was here until sunset. Nothing weird happened, I promise, what has you so…?"

"It's today," he interrupts. "You didn't know, because – oh hell, it's too complicated to explain, but in 2053 they've found out about the exact date of the destruction – "

" – of the library…" she whispers, her eyes fixated on the staircase. "No…"

"I'm sorry," he says, squeezes her hand and pulls her back, away from the library. "We need to go. I – we have to flee this place, there'll be chaos and – "

"Robin, no!" she snatches away her hand, and he stops in his tracks. "I can't, I have to get there and finish, my work is…"

"…less important than your life!"

"No!"

"Regina," he says, his hands on her forearms, urging her to look at him in the eyes. "For me, no living thing – no book or ancient scroll – is as important as you, right now."

"But I…" her heart softens for a moment, but then it hardens, because she's come here and… she wants to do what she's come here for. "I'm sorry, Robin," she decides. "I'm going."

His hands fall. She was expecting him to stop her, to insist in some way, but much to her surprise he nods and glances at the library, then at her again. "Alright then," he decides. "I'm coming with you."

He follows.

She moves in the library as if she lived there – and in fact, she has spent months there, and she loves living in Alexandria, amidst books and knowledge. She loves how she could bond with some of the scholars who work and study here. She loves her small room above the tavern and she loves – her freedom. Freedom to know and to travel, and –

"Hush now," she tells him as they enter the Serapeum. It's dark inside – a few scholars inside, but it's mostly empty and so eerily calm, as no one could yet imagine the devastation that's going to happen in a few hours. Regina takes a lantern, silent as a shadow, and keeps walking through the corridors of books and scrolls. Robin follows, his hand finding hers. She looks at him, questioning.

"I don't want to lose you in this labyrinth," he whispers.

"Of course."

When they reach her desk, the sky outside is pitch black and she sits, her work still there from that afternoon. "Alright," she sighs. "I… I have to think, I have to decide which books I need the most – I don't… I wish I had more time…"

"I know," he answers. "Please tell me how I can help."

They work until dawn. He brings her scrolls and pieces of parchment and she writes and copies, he snaps pictures with those technological devices she didn't have access to. Midday comes and goes, the Christmas morning rolls and ends as the afternoon starts. Regina barely lifts her eyes, her hand started hurting after the first three hours, but she doesn't stop. She cannot. This is too important, and she itches to warn some of her fellow academics, but – she can't do that either. They cannot know what's going to happen, because her future self has been too clear about it – she won't interfere, she –

"Regina."

Robin's voice comes from where he's standing, staring out the door, across the columns and down the staircase. "Regina, they're coming."

Her head snaps up, her neck giving a sharp stab of pain down her spine. "No – I'm not done yet –"

"We need to go," he urges again. She can hear them now. Screams and yells and – the sounds of destruction, of course, as she has never heard them before, her heart beats so quickly she's afraid it'll stop. "Just take some stuff, Regina," he suddenly passes her a bag. It's visibly… not from this era, and she looks around, afraid someone will see. "Let's go, we need to go."

The sky is starting to bathe in orange by the time she's done shoving books inside the bag. He has started blowing on the candles, in a desperate attempt to shade them from the horde of people who's about to irrupt inside the library. She works as fast as she can but it's not enough, tears of exhaustion and powerlessness slipping down her cheek. She barely has the time to grab the bag before Robin grabs her hand and runs with her, her eyes skimming all the books she hasn't had time to save.

"Here," he tells her, pushing her beyond a door and they fly down the stairs, right, left and up the stairs again.

"I hope you know where we are, because I sure don't," she pants, the silk of her linen dress now filthy and grey on its edges. Her feet hurt, her sandals slapping against the tiles as they run. And the next door Robin opens, it's on a crowded room.

A scream welcomes them, louder than the rest, and it's an angry, bellowing, _Pagans!_ , and Robin's hand is a grip around hers as they turn and run in the opposite direction. But now they're following, the corridors all the same, the scrolls falling down the shelves as an intense smell gets closer and closer.

"No," she murmurs as they halt, the shouting chasers at their back, the wall of fire ahead of them, and she has never seen fire – not like this, not this much, never until now. They stand still for an instant that seems to last longer, and then Robin pulls her aside and – how does he find an escape, she doesn't know, but he does, and slams a door against those people as they probably go searching for another target.

"We need to get out," he coughs, bends over with his hands on his thighs. She looks up, her hand on his back as she helps him, now more than ever she's aware of how _fragile_ and _human_ his body is.

"There's smoke from underneath the door," she warns, as they look around, and they're up next to the window. "We'll need to jump."

"I'll go first," he says, but she stops him.

"I heal quicker than you, I'll go first."

"Regina –"

She doesn't let him speak but climbs the window, her books still there and the bag secured in her grip as she jumps. It's not that high – but high enough to take her breath away, and she rolls down the street as she hits the ground heavily.

Still sitting down, she calls for him – because she can already see the fire behind him, and a curtain of fire surrounding half the ceiling of the Serapeum. "Jump!"

He doesn't look back as he follows her down, and much to her relief he's up in a second, unharmed, he crouches and helps her up and takes the books and her hand, and they run.

.

The sun is almost past the horizon as they climb to her room, the tavern devoid of its usual clients, as everyone has gone to the square.

"I can't stay much longer," he says. "We need to part ways in a few minutes."

"I know," she sighs, sitting on the bed. She looks up, and meets his eyes – tired, and his face is dirty of ashes and smoke. Judging by the state of her clothes, she probably isn't faring any better. "Robin… thank you."

"It's okay," he tells her, slumping down on a chair. "Just… try not to put yourself in danger anytime soon, alright?"

"I'll try," she smiles.

He frowns, as if he doesn't believe her, but says nothing as he rummages inside a leather satchel. Finally, he finds what he's looking for and fishes out a small, wrapped package. "For you," he says, and offers it to her. "I didn't want to let Christmas pass without a gift. You can… probably open it later," he says. The pocket watch tells him they have minutes left, she sees, and she doesn't want to waste them.

"I have something for you too," Regina says. The gift is under her bed, wrapped as well in a linen clothing, and he takes it, places it safely inside his shirt.

She doesn't want this to end. She feels terrible for having wasted their day together, and…

"I need to go now," he says quietly. "Thank you for the gift. I'll see you… well, I'll let you know. In some way."

"Alright," she answers. It's bittersweet, the way tears prickle at her eyes, as they both get up and awkwardly stare at each other before giving into a hug. "I'll miss you," she whispers into his shoulder, his warm hand pressed on her hair, the other on her back, as he holds her tight. But then, the now-familiar pain in her chest starts – politely, as if it doesn't want to disturb, but she pulls away from Robin and presses a palm against her heart. "Go," she tells him.

He knows, he knows what's happening and that his presence would make it worse, so he nods and looks down at his pocket watch. He works his fingers quickly, eyeing Regina with rapid glances in the meanwhile. Until his coordinates are set, and he disappears with a flash of blue.

She sits down on the bed, suddenly tired, her chest doesn't hurt anymore.

.

His gift is a bracelet. A silver bracelet she can wear anytime, in any world, with a series of numbers engraved.

As she watches, the numbers shift and change, glowing of gold before fusing back to another stripe of digits. As she sees it, Regina smiles.

Coordinates.

And a name: a street address.

 _Till our next Christmas, milady_ ; says the note she left on the bed.

– § –

 _December 24th, 1685._

 _12:32._

 _Château de Versailles, Paris_

 _48°48'5″N 2°7′48″W_

.

 _Do you suppose it's possible to belong to someone before we've met them? If so, I belong to you._

.

Robin hides in the gardens almost all day.

He thanks the stars every minute for the possibility of using modern technology to stay warm. The snow is, in fact, testing his ability to bear this winter – and so he stays there, perched on a tree, ensuring that he won't be seen by the gardeners or by someone who's just looking for a leisure stroll in the woods – a bit of movement to ensure they can digest the King's banquets.

He tries to pass the time, to distract himself, but he finds he's so very often checking his pocket watch. A few hours left. He can see the palace, in the distance. And Regina is there.

At least, that's what she told him.

He opens the journal again.

And it's there, written with a green ink. _Versailles, 1685_. She didn't bother with coordinates, this time. The place is well known and it was easy enough to find. He skims back the pages, lost in the beautiful mix of their different handwritings, alternating green and black in the back-and-forth of messages they've sent each other during the past year. This was her gift for him – this journal that helps with the pain, it makes it a little less bittersweet, like soft balm over a wound. She has written of her adventures, of how she wishes they were together as she visited China and she went back to Lapland in summer. He has written of his missions for the Time Agency, how the road he's taken seems to be a bit rocky at times. Always on the move.

 _I don't know if you thought about it, but I guess I'd be immensely bored, should I ever have to settle down somewhere – and sometime. But you're like me, Regina. A soul who wanders. And despite that… you're my star, the fixed point of my life._

She has answered with a slightly shaky handwriting, that time. _I owe you the time I stole from us in Alexandria. I'm still sorry._

He didn't fail to notice how she ignored his confession.

 _We'll always have our Christmases to make up for it._

Yes, it has been sweet, to somehow talk to her. To know he doesn't have to renounce to a connection with her, to know green and black are together and yet separated in a pair of twin journals.

Robin sighs and watches the gardens covered in snow, towards the palace. He'll wait for the sunset and then he'll sneak in, and he'll be with her for a few hours. Finally.

.

He can't resist, and he sneaks into her room before dinner. She's already gone out – dinners at Versailles are a serious affair, especially the one on Christmas Eve. His plan was slightly different, originally – he should have introduced himself to the King and the Queen, and then joined the other nobles at the King's table, but he changed his mind. He wants to surprise her, and so he has written her a note, delivered by a smart servant girl, to tell her he'll wait for her in her chambers. It's almost eleven when he hears heeled steps from outside.

The room opens and closes, and he spies from behind the divider panel – because he wants an instant to admire her without her seeing him. She's dressed appropriately for this era, and… she's so beautiful.

Her lips are painted and her hair is longer than he's ever seen it, straight at the top and then coiffed into a triumph of ringlet to the ends, a complicated triumph of tresses and golden threads and pearls, her dress green with golden embroideries.

"Robin?" she calls softly. She must have sent the maids away, she places down a chandelier on a table as she searches the room.

" _Bonsoir, madame_ ," he says, sliding in the open from behind his hideout. The smile that lights up her face is enough to rival the light from the fireplace.

"Robin," she whispers, and runs to his inviting arms. Her palms press against his back as he holds her to him. "I've missed you."

"Happy Christmas, lovely," he says, kissing her hair, as he savors that perfume he has dreamed of and that her messages can't give him. "How's His Majesty this evening?"

"Charming as always," she pulls back, and he's surprised to see a moisture glistening in her eyes. "He can't wait to meet my fiancé."

"That's what I am now?" he says, amused, placing back a lock behind her ear.

"Well, yes," she scowls. "I had to find a way to keep my suitors at bay, after all."

"Suitors?" he cocks his head, questioning. "As in plural?"

"Of course," and she looks into his eyes, something soft and so uncovered and uncertain that it makes him melt. "But I was waiting for you. A real life Penelope."

He doesn't answer but stares into her eyes for a moment, then leans in to kiss her forehead. He lingers there, his hand intertwining with hers.

"Stay with me tonight," she murmurs. "We… don't have to do anything, just… hold me until the dawn comes?"

"Of course," he easily says. "There's no other place I'd rather be."

.

They don't sleep a wink.

Regina slips out of her dress and into the bed, in a long white nightgown made of the finest silk, and frees her tresses to a cascade of dark hair. He gets rid of his clothes as well – and they crawl under the covers, a single candle still lit, as they watch the snow outside the window and the piercing black sky.

She has brought food and wine with her – stolen from the kitchen, evidently, she says a young cook named Remy has been treating her with some delicious addendums to the regular menus. It's good wine, and sweet pastries and tangerines, and they eat slowly, him holding her in his arms.

Talking comes easy, after that.

Of course they've been exchanging letters and notes, but the real deal is so much better, her warmth and her perfume and skin, and those lips he itches to kiss. Not yet, though. He gets lost into the sound of her voice, how she tells the tale of her adventures, and tells him they really should find a place where life is a bit more modern, and does he remember all their adventures until now? Is he keeping track? Because she is, and writing down every detail.

The moon shines and the snow starts falling again, the hours passing by, and he thinks he won't doze off – despite having been awake for almost twenty-four hours now. But evidently, she notices.

"You could sleep for a bit, you know," she suggests. "I'll still be here in the morning."

"No, I know," he says. "It's not that. It's just… I don't want to waste time."

She turns in his arms, looks at him. She's so impossibly close, he can see minuscule golden dots in her irises. He can see her serious expression and her half-smile, the shadows under her eyes and the bright shine of her whole being.

"Robin," she whispers. "I'm not afraid of time. I'm afraid of not making the most of the time we're given."

.

He inches closer, and their lips meet.

He wanted to, from earlier, but her words have done it, and he just can't wait anymore. Regina meets him halfway, her eyelids trembling and her eyes closing, his hand tangles into her hair as he enjoys the feeling of her for the first time. It's like adrenaline, spots of light and dark all together, if the times he spent with her until now were a negative – this is real, this is them, her and him, the bright picture of truth, as the clock strikes midnight and Christmas finds them tangled and kissing.

He knows, in his heart, that they won't go further. But it's more than enough, for tonight.

 _Regina_ , he whispers, reverent, against her lips, and he can swear he feels the quiet wetness of a tear against his cheek, but pays it no mind as his thumb brushes it away.

Her hand cups his cheek as they part slowly, her smile all watery as she looks positively radiant and heartbroken at the same time. "Is this the first?" she asks, as if she's worried, and he can't quite understand what she's asking, but then he gets it.

"It is," he tells her. "And you?"

"Yes," she smiles, this time, relieved. "Actually, I… tried to kiss you, once. In my past, your future. You told me it was going to be the first for both of us, and… that it was going to be in France," she adds, and if he weren't so close, he couldn't see the slightest hint of blushing in her cheeks.

"I am glad," he says sincerely, and presses a smooch to her mouth. "It's a memory I will treasure forever, lovely."

"Me too," she says, and then she's kissing him again, and he gets lost into silken sheets and raven hair, as the candle slowly burns and the snow slowly falls.

.

They go through the Holy Mass together – as she's part of the court, although temporarily, she introduces him to the King and the Queen as her fiancé, and regrettably informs them that the time has come and she must return to her land – a small, unknown kingdom he's sure not even the King has ever heard of, but she's so beautiful and convincing that he offers a carriage and the services of his men to accompany her and Robin.

Christmas day in Versailles is long and white, with small gifts of golden earrings and melted chocolate, but he's glad they got to spend the night alone. He constantly feels watched, even as they take a stroll around the gardens with funny snow rackets, and a bit later, when he takes her into his arms and steals a kiss behind a tree.

"I wish we could come here in the summer," she sighs, regretfully. "They told me that the gardens are so beautiful during that time of the year."

"I would gift you flowers, and bring you inside the labyrinth so we could have… a private moment," he says mischievously.

It's early afternoon when they go back to her chambers and she starts to get ready. She won't go far with her luggage, he knows, but they still need to travel to the nearest tavern.

He watches as she collects her things, from the months she's spent here – always researching, studying, and hoping to bring her light into troubled times. She's so beautiful in her double-breasted blue coat, long to her feet, her hair free and her lips unpainted, busy around as he lazily sits on her bed and watches. "Wish I could help, love, but I feel like I'd be a nuisance."

"You're right," she tells him, paying him no mind. "Now hush, I'm trying to focus."

There's almost an hour left to sundown when they reach the tavern. A precious hour he will treasure, he will spend by kissing her lips and already starting to miss her. She doesn't cry – she's strong, his Regina, doesn't want to dampen their last minutes with her tears, she told him so in a letter, in their journals.

"It's almost time," he has to whisper at some point, his hand cupping her head, holding her close to him. "I'm sorry, my darling. It appears I'll have to go."

"Let me… let me go first, this time," she asks.

He nods, just now realizing he has never seen her… go. He steps back as she reaches for her luggage, and opens her trunk, rummaging through a set of drawers he's never seen. She extracts a black candle, smiling at his confused frown. "Yes, I don't own a technological pocket watch," she says, "but I have these. Babylon candles."

Robin is still confused, but he lets her be as she readies the candle and the matches – then closes the trunk and ties a long, blue ribbon to it, and to her wrist, so that she can travel with it. She finally looks at him, as to say goodbye, and he glances at the sun outside the window, the cruel midwinter sun.

"Well then," she says, her voice only slightly trembling. "See you next year, Robin."

He nods wordlessly, as she takes the candle and the matches, and looks at him, lowering her gaze and biting her lower lip. He hates the way her eyes sadden. Hates it. So he whispers, _Wait_ , and she looks up surprised, but before she can say anything he's kissing her.

Regina moans against his lips, then melts to him as he embraces her and gives her all he can, all the love and affection he can leave her to sweeten their separation. "I'll miss you," he whispers, a tear escaping down.

She doesn't say anything, but smiles tearily, then pulls back for good, and he watches as she lights the candle and disappears in a flash of light.

He stays there, as if he expects to see her appear again. And then a silver pain burns for an instant around his wrist, and the twin silver bracelet molds around and changes to say, _I'll miss you too_.

– § –

 _December 24th, 1913._

 _19:24._

 _Saint Petersburg, Russia_

 _59°56′N 30°20′E_

.

Regina doesn't normally feel nervous before Christmas. It's a happy day of her years, and many times she's been tempted to cheat and jump on ahead – blowing a candle and skipping to the next one, and she knows Robin has been tempted to do the same, but… they didn't. Because the days they've been given are counted and never enough, and they don't want to dare their destiny and break the rules. So she misses him and waits, then gets a few hours of bliss, then misses him again for a few months. And it's torture. But stars can't be with human beings, and this is the only concession the Moon has made, and she had to live with it.

And yet this year she feels jittery.

Because of where she is and who she is, or because she misses her traveler a lot, she prepares for Christmas with the utmost care. She dresses in blue, a long and shiny dress with veils and silver seams, combs her hair up in an elegant twist, and slides into her white fur. There's a car, waiting outside, a great luxury for one of the best violinists the world has ever seen – and the Tsar simply had to see her play, and at Christmas Eve nonetheless, in the best theatre they can offer in Saint Petersburg.

There's a schedule to follow, the Choir of the Children first – the orphans from the local orphanage; then a singer, and then it's her turn, and the Russian Ballet offers a new representation of _Cinderella_. So she had to accept, even if it goes against every rule she's imposed herself – not to draw attention, not to change history – but then, she didn't follow the same rules when she posed for Botticelli during the Renaissance, did she? And now there's a painting with her face, a painting she hasn't seen yet.

And she knows what will happen to the Russian Empire, so she plans to give them this nice parenthesis into an evening of divertissements, and then to go find her lover, and to fly from Russia before it becomes a place of revolutions.

She sighs as she mounts the car, holding the case for her violin, and rides to the Hermitage – the Winter Palace, where the exhibition takes place. She feels nerves jumping in her stomach, and she thinks she's going to be sick. After all, her talent is a bit of a cheat – she did have years and years to perfection her art, but it's too late to withdraw now.

"Regina," a man welcomes her, a man she knows is in charge of welcoming the artists. "Follow me, if you please," as she does, and keeps her chin high with all the austerity and calm she can muster, she catches a glimpse of a pair of eyes she knows all too well before they disappear.

But it can't be.

He can't know she's there, he can't be there. Not yet, not for… not for her moment on stage, because her hands are sweating and she's a fraud and they'll find out and –

"You start in twenty minutes, my lady," the man says with a kind smile. "The soprano has just started."

She nods, her mouth suddenly dry, and sits. If Robin sees her like this, if he's there… she's not going to survive the agony of having him close and yet having to wait some more.

.

Her changing room is inundated with flowers and cards, as she enters it. (She assumes they use greenhouses for the flower, because she really can't explain how else they'd have white roses in this arctic winter.)

And yes, she was invited to stay and see the ballet, but she just wants to reach her hotel and – her thoughts are confused as she gathers her fur, her muff, and a couple of bouquets, just the white roses, and the red ones. Snow and blood. Swans and fury.

A familiar warmth from her wrist, her gaze follows the engraved words.

 _A mysterious song falls from golden stars_ , reads her bracelet. And, seconds later – _We have waited long enough_.

He's right, he thinks. There's this sort of calm, muffled quality to the world as she exits the Hermitage, her feet sinking into the snow, her head strangely clear as she mounts the car again and grips the handle of the violin case. She doesn't remember how she reaches her room, the key cold in her palm, a kiss surprising her the moment she enters the door. His hand tangles into her hair, messing up her carefully molded hairdo. A moan escapes her, he groans when her cold hand touches his cheek and as she walks into the room and kicks the door closed. The violin goes to lay on the table, her movements blind as he keeps kissing her. They haven't said a word yet, and she finds they don't need to – since Versailles, it seems like they suffer each separation more and more, the distance harder to bear every time they have to split.

"Regina," he murmurs when they part, sounding almost reverent. "Oh gods, finally. You played the music of the universe, my love."

She blushes, trying to hide as her forehead falls on his shoulder. He kisses her hair, holding her, and trails his hand amongst the veils of her dress. "It was just some music," she downplays, as his fingers tip her chin up, he looks at her with so much affection her heart thumps harder it almost hurts. She could cry. Cry for the relief of finally having him here, with her, but she doesn't. Presses a kiss to his lips instead, and says, "Robin, I want you to take me to bed."

She doesn't miss the way his eyes widen and he smiles, his face bright yet hesitant as he asks, "Are you certain?"

Regina nods, then, and would she know, she has waited for years – he's the only one she wants, the man who fell into her life as a shooting star and stayed there as her only certainty in a sea of doubts and roaming days. The man who stays and keeps coming back to her, even though she brings him pain, even though the littlest of mistakes could hurt her heart, he has always believed in them and found her when she needed it most.

Now it's her turn to take a leap of faith.

"I am certain," she whispers, tip-toeing to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Make love to me, Robin."

He nods, his hand brushing away a lock of hair from her eyes. She is ready now – gone is the shyness of when he found her and gone are the embarrassed, flirtatious days – the complicity they built in Alexandria and the wonderful, new discoveries of love in Versailles. Now that's all gone and behind them, and she's ready.

It's easy to be distracted by his arms and wandering hands, the way he finds the tiny buttons on her back and he tries to unfasten them, kissing her neck slowly, oh so slowly, as she can tell he doesn't want to scare her off. She smiles against his mouth.

"I think it'll be easier if I turn," she proposes. "And… I wouldn't want to call a maid to undress me, dear."

He smirks, and kisses her neck again, then she waits as he works the buttons down to the end and slides the dress off her arms. It pools down to the floor, leaving her in a flimsy camisole that did very little against the harsh Russian winter. The fireplace is pleasantly cackling a warm symphony of sounds, and she very briefly considers taking him here and now on the carpet – she's not scared of this, Regina, has wanted this for a very long time, she knows what will happen because she observed it for centuries. And yet her heart is doing somersaults, because this body is still a novelty, even after several years on Earth.

"Regina," he whispers. His hands are on her back as she turns in his arms, slowly starts to undress him in the silence of the room, as if she wanted to give a sort of solemnity to this moment, and yet she didn't want to because it feels the most natural of things. An obvious, consequent step of their relationship, the one and only human relationship where she hasn't had to hide her true nature – because he has always known who she was, because he is, very simply, always been there – the only moments where she has been free to just… be. And that's what she plans to do tonight.

So she kisses him.

Just to be sure – she knows with the kiss that he's in, he's as hopelessly gone as she is, and how could be in any other way – when the Moon only lets her stars join the humans if they're soulmates?

She passes a finger on his skin, under his watchful gaze, as if they're exploring each other, there standing on the carpet, and she suddenly realizes that now she doesn't want them to move. At all. The thought of falling into a cold bed when the fire is so inviting and close, it makes her freeze. It makes her fizzle down and shut the fire that he has lit inside her. So she gently curls her hand around his arms and tugs down. Nods to his confused gaze, and says, _Here. Here and now_.

Kisses briefly his lips, as to chase away any doubt he may have. She knows he's been with other people in the past – and yet she doesn't feel uncomfortable with him, even though he probably feels more… expert, she knows how this works. She knows how to please him and how to ask for him to please her and she knows that it won't be the common experience that human beings get to taste – when it's their time to do so. It will be a bonding of souls, a moment when they are one, but none of this really matters. None of it, apart from the feeling of his fingers on her skin.

They sink down to the carpet, his hand into her hair. She has never left his eyes, during this time, never left his gaze, the silence like a warm cloud of understanding – she sighs, Regina, because despite being certain that this is what she wants, she doesn't really know where to start. He seems to understand what the problem is, because he just watches her, kisses tenderly her forehead, and then her lips.

"Let me," he offers, as she nods, his hand slowly cupping her breast. Her breath catches, at the sensation of his hands on her most sensitive parts, as he kneads her nipple and asks, "You alright?"

"Yes," she says, still amazed by the sparks her body is giving her. She has touched herself in the past, and has felt pleasure, but… never like this. It feels enhanced, as if he's discovered the secret key to her, the missing piece, and he kisses her as he teases her nipple and touches her breasts in a way that makes her weak in the knees. And it's all through the camisole she's wearing, and she feels she can't wait for them to really be – _Robin_ , she sighs, and tugs at his shirt, tugs at the weird pair of pants he's wearing, all accordingly to this historical era.

"Patience, my love," he says, with the smirk she so deeply loves. "We waited for a long time, so I intend to fully savor this moment."

"I thought we were in a hurry," she tells him. "That you didn't want to waste a single minute."

He stops, looking up at her. "I don't consider as wasted a single minute spent with you, lovely."

She nods, her eyes closing, a warm sensation of pleasure pooling into her chest. This is nice – this is more than nice – it's heavenly, the way his lips touch hers and then move down to her neck, to kiss her so gently, and she kisses his shoulder. His hands move to lift her camisole, as he threads them slowly, up to where she can feel she's hot and wet.

So this is what humans feel when they join a lover? This is how they get to ascend to the highest heights and feel, for a second… immortal?

The sudden thought washes on her as it's a cold bucket of water, and she freezes on the spot. Her fingers stop their loving dance on his back, and her soulmate – because he is, because he can read her so perfectly, Robin stops.

"What's wrong, darling?" he asks, low voice full of concern. "Did you change your mind? We can stop, if you'd like…"

"No, no, I'm fine," she lies, but his hand lifts to her cheek and captures a tear she didn't even realized had escaped her.

"Tell me what's wrong," he pushes, and she supposes she owes it to him, does she not? At least the reason that has her crying like a fool in the middle of their foreplay, as her ruining the sweet moment they were sharing, and she detests crying in front of him. Stars don't cry, they burn and love and exist, but this kind of emotion is still new and scary. "Please, Regina," he murmurs. "What's happening?"

She falls into his arms, pressing her nose against his shirt. "I just realized you will die," she sobs quietly, trying to tamper her stupid sighs. "I always knew, of course, but… it just… I just… realized, and I know it's not now, not yet, but you will – one day – and I'll be alone, forever, again."

She'd have expected anything – anything – except for him to… laugh.

As she feels the amused movement of his chest against her cheek, she looks up, indignantly. "And why are you laughing right now?"

He shakes his head, the idiot, and kisses the top of her head. "Regina, my darling," he says, "I know. I think about it every day. But – you see, I made a decision once. That I would live every day of my life to the fullest, more so the ones where I'm with you. And – I know it's scary," he tells her, as she starts shaking her head, "believe me, I know. But for now, I'd very much like you to stop thinking about what we can't change."

She stays silent, and he sighs, holding her closer. "Regina, I know it's difficult. But staying with you – being with you as long as I can – I wouldn't have it any other way, _ma petite étoile_. You're the best thing that happened to me."

She burrows into his warmth, just breathing, thinking of what he's said. He must feel she needs a moment, because he waits several heartbeats before adding, "Regina, I choose you. Over pain and distance and the fact that my hair will become grey and you'll stay this beautiful forever, and one day you may find love again. But for now, please, let us love and live, my dearest."

Her heart feels like it's been torn apart and severed with painful stitches, now, but she nods, because he has done it – he has managed to spin his beautiful words around and to chase away her worries. She _will_ think about it later, she decides. At some point. Tomorrow. Next week. Any time that she's _not_ with him, because she refuses to ruin their time alone again.

"I feel like I…killed the mood," she admits. She's ashamed of it, but he won't have none of it, because he reaches down to kiss her.

"You didn't kill anything, love," he says, and intertwines their hands together, lifting hers to his lips. Then, he looks at her with a mischievous brightness in his eyes – and she doesn't understand why he looks so amused, until her hand he's lowered down reaches him, and he's half-hard. Not fully, but definitely still excited. Still, almost, ready. "Does this feel… abated to you?" he jokes, and she gives in a bubbly laugh, even if unwillingly, because he's such a dork.

"Definitely not," she plays along. "Now… make me forget our little… interlude, Robin," she says, ignoring the dried traces of tears she still feels on her cheeks. "Please."

"You say it like it's a hardship," he tells her. "Turn around."

She smiles, and does, surprised to see how quickly she's ready to trust him, to abandon herself to him completely, so she stays there and bites her lip as he works on the knots that tie her camisole. He kisses her shoulder as he does, her neck, her hair, and slides down the fabric as it pools down in her lap. He tangles his fingers in her hair and stills – she's about to ask what he's doing, when he starts freeing her hair from the hairpins. It's so slow and it builds so much inside – that he _cares_ , that they're not just here for sex but to love each other, and so she waits, her hand on his thigh, as he's sitting behind her and working restlessly to – her hair falls down in a cascade, she's never had it so long.

"Thank you," she whispers. "Now… your turn."

He doesn't answer but stands still, waits. Regina turns around, and lifts herself up on her knees as she cups his cheeks and plants a kiss on his lips. It's wonderful, how he melts into her embrace and closes his eyes, has her go all tingly and full of a expectations. And yet she doesn't know what to expect. Will he be slow and torturous or will he start slowly and then, once he's gotten used to her body, he'll be fast and almost rough? Will he…

But he lets her undress him, her hands working fast to get rid of his shirt, to unbutton his pants because maybe _she_ is the one who's too eager. He moans into her kiss, breathes out, Regina, and there's a fervor in his movements that wasn't there before. They end up naked, panting, and looking at each other as if they've suddenly discovered what this is, and don't want to stop.

"Now, Robin," she demands. "Touch me, now."

Her heart flickers like there's a thousand wings making it fly, and it almost hurts – but in a good way, a very pleasant way, unlike when she lets her human nature beat her and when her heart almost splits, in the days where they can't be together. Then he touches her breast once again, then slides his hands below her thighs and lifts her legs, her facing him, and both sitting. She is so close to him now, can fully see his erection, as he tips her chin up.

"I wanted you to know…" he hesitates, but doesn't leave her eyes, "that there's nothing in me that could hurt you. I know I am your first, but – I mean, I did get checked, just in case we could…"

She interrupts his ramblings, capturing his mouth, and finally he shuts up – she doesn't want to think about maladies or babies they could never have. She doesn't want to think of anything but the way he's touching her, and how she's about to love him.

"Alright," he easily agrees when they part. And then moans into her mouth as she kisses him again, and it's surprisingly easy… to get lost into him, into that tingly sensation that pools down and reaches the parts of herself she didn't know existed… and she decides to give a head start to things, her hand not-so-subtly reaching for his hard length, and he answers with a noise that makes her feel things.

"Regina, please," he whispers against her lips. "I don't want to spoil it all now, love."

"You won't," she answers, confident. "I know you'll be able to save the… most delicious part… for later."

She suddenly feels him touching her, some sort of evil payback that surely doesn't have anything good or Christmassy, his fingers sinking into her core with the ease of someone who definitely knows what he's doing. Good thing he does, because she doesn't expect anything less.

"Oh yes," she pants, her lips against his shoulder as her back arches. "Please, oh, please," she murmurs, not to him, but to the delicious frissons that are taking hold of her body, sparks of fire and burning pleasure as he quickens the movement. Her hand curls around his shoulder, her fingers leaving marks into his skin, as he pushes her down gently, untangles their legs so that she goes to lie on the carpet.

"That's better," he says, looking at her as if he's seen heaven and he's loving it. "Spread those legs for me, love. I want to eat you out."

"Later," she pleads, doing her best so it doesn't sound like a growl. "Just – let's…"

"Patience," he instructs, opening her legs slowly, his hand finding her core again, two fingers sliding inside and pumping until her thigh is trembling hopelessly. "You are so beautiful," he says, almost surprised, definitely stupefied as he looks at her, and she'd find it romantic if she didn't have his fingers inside of her, him rubbing at her pulse point with his thumb, and him licking his lips as if he's starving and she's the feast.

"Just… do whatever you need," she laments, tired of waiting. She's done nothing but waiting, during her life, but it almost pays out when Robin lowers down between her legs and she feels his tongue on her. She doesn't know if she should close her eyes and enjoy, or watch him so she can become even wetter, knowing he's doing this to her, that he's the sole responsible for her tingling nerves and fuzzy brain.

He feels so good, so good, she throws back her head before she can stop herself, her hands going down to hold on to his head as he works his magic and makes her move and writhe like never before. "Oh _yespleaseRobin_ , _justlikethat_ , oh _Gods_ , please keep going," until she loses the ability of talking and bites her lip to catch a scream. She rocks slowly against him, then gradually stops, until her legs start trembling and she's completely lost into her pleasure… She doesn't know how long it lasts – eternity, an instant, it could be both at once, but his will never be enough, she can't get enough…

"Tell me how it feels," he says, pausing for a moment, and she complies, as much as she can manage, and tells him, _So good, please, please my love_ , as he doubles his efforts and adds his fingers and laps restlessly, and she's – she knows, she's about on the edge of falling but she can't, _won't_ let go, doesn't want to, because then – then it'd be over, –

Regina sinks her fingers into the carpet, her back arching up again, the pleasure is so intense it's almost painful – he cups her breast and titillates her nipple as she lets out a groan, as she loses any ability to speak. She bites the inside of her cheek so hard she feels blood, her blood – swirling in her veins, she's alive, and her head feels so deliciously empty as he fucks her with his mouth and eats her out, _Oh, Robin, please!_

The end is so close and yet she resists, stars exploding under her eyelids, her lover so eager and he just wants her to come, to enjoy it at its fullest, but she – _can't_ –

He urges her, "Regina, oh love you, – look so good and – please, love, come for me," he tells her, so she surrenders – as she tumbles down, surrenders to his tongue and comes with a cry and tears roll down her cheeks as the pleasure overtakes her.

She falls down on the carpet, sweaty and tired. Robin slides next to her, with a satisfied grin on his face. "Merry Christmas, love," he tells her, all smug and happy with himself. She doesn't even know how to open her eyes, so she gives a weak moan in response, tells him _I'll be with you in a minute, give me a second_ , and pants away the last wonderful waves of her orgasm.

And later, she decides, she will take care of him, and then she'll beg for a moment together in the bath tub, and he'll make love to her again tomorrow morning as she's half dressed in blue and gold, ready to leave for her next adventure, and again before he leaves her, but this – this first night, she won't forget.

Because he's the one.

And he knows how to wait for her.

He waits for a moment, until she's ready again, he caresses her hair and kisses her brow and tells her how beautiful she is, how much he loves her, and she thinks that if this is what death is, or what eternity once was, she'll take it.

– § –

 _December 24th, 1987._

 _12:13._

 _Storybrooke, Maine_

 _44°14'21"N 69°02'49"W_

.

 _There is no coincidence, when it comes to people finding each other again.  
Important encounters are planned by the souls, long before the bodies meet._

.

Regina sits at the table, a gone-cold cup of cocoa forgotten between her hands.

Granny's Diner is always calm, at this time of the day. The morning rush is gone, and the lunch rush has yet to come. Just a few passersby, like the old couple that looks exactly like the one in that movie about balloons and a flying house. (Silly movie, if she's being honest.) (She cried.)

Granny has really outdone herself with decoration, and the atmosphere is pretty and cozy – a bright Christmas tree in a corner, and strings of shining balls attached to the walls and the ceiling, paper snowflakes and – Christmas songs, _all the time_ , and Regina is currently listening to her fourth _Jingle Bells Rock_ and she swears she's going to pour the hot chocolate on the stereo if it doesn't stop.

Of course, she could always go home.

 _Home_.

What a weird word, for one that has been uprooted since… forever, but – now, there's a small silver key sitting in her purse, and she does own the beautiful manor in Mifflin Street.

She could go there and wait there, but she won't. Instead, she'll refuse any kind of human interaction and sit on this bench, until he comes back.

She's always been good at waiting, after all.

.

"Are you alright, honey?"

Granny's voice startles her, as she wakes with a jolt. She's fallen asleep, her head leaning against the wall – she remembers she was going to rest her eyes for a minute, but then it hasn't been a minute – confused, she looks at the old lady who's standing next to her table with a frown.

"What… what time is it?"

"Almost four, I'm afraid," she tells her. "I'm about to close up, today we're closed in the evening. But… I can whip you something up for an early dinner, we should have leftovers, if you want."

Regina nods, staring ahead of her, and the _Yes, thanks_ that exits her mouth is quiet enough that she lowers her head.

"He didn't come, did he?" Granny asks warmly, but Regina doesn't dare to meet her eyes. "Go home, honey. And if – _when_ he comes, send him to me and I'll give him a good scolding."

She nods again, slowly getting up the bench, she reaches the bathroom wordlessly, washes away her smudged mascara and brushes her hair. Then, she goes out, and takes the brown paper bag with a small smile.

Her house is cold and empty when she enters. She doesn't even look at the food but places it on the table, doesn't look at the unlit Christmas tree she set up in a corner, at the unlit lights that are hanging all around the walls, but goes straight upstairs without even taking off her coat. And – there it is, the journal she uses to communicate with Robin, and she opens it, and there no message.

Nothing.

Worry starts nagging at her insides.

They did agree to meet – today, a bit earlier than always, but she was confident that as long as he stayed away from her, it was going to be fine… and he hasn't come and hasn't written, which can only mean he's in trouble. If he couldn't write… because he wouldn't leave her like this, just – disappearing, without a word, that would be too much – and that would mean he's…

She sits at her vanity, staring at the diary. Their last messages were from a few days ago, and she goes back through the pages – a picture, and a small pressed daisy, a postcard, and words, _so_ many words, in black and green. About their last Christmases, their lives together until now, about how much they love each other and miss each other, and… he didn't come.

Regina adds a salty tear to the pages, her head falling down. She can't help to feel disappointed, and let down, even though a few hours of delay are nothing, she tells herself, but it's weird because he's always been on time, sometimes even too early, her forehead drops against her hand as she sobs quietly.

And when her sobs have dried up, finally, when she's poured her bitterness and worry out, that's when her bracelet glows.

She looks down immediately, so fast she hurts her neck, but she catches the words still changing. The previous string becomes just one, with a set of coordinates to follow, and she inhales – forgetting how to breathe for a second, she reads.

 _Jail_.

"Oh by Diana, Robin," she sighs. "What have you done?"

.

The door opens and she looks up from her book, with a frown on her face. A frown that has been there since hours.

"All yours, ma'am."

"Thanks," she tells the guard, and lifts up from the chair, reaching for him, stroking his cheek, her fingers touching gently the black shadows under his eyes – even though she's pissed, she can't help but desire touching him, and maybe also punching him. Again.

"Sorry, Regina," he slurs. "I was trying to steal a thing for the Time Agency, but they got to me. Big. Three of them. And I couldn't warn you, I'm…"

"Sorry, I know," she says, stern. "Have you still got the pocket watch?"

He nods, so she tells him, "Good, then take me home. I wasted half a candle to come here and bail you out, I hope you appreciate it."

"Always, love," he says, amused. "Only… where exactly is home?"

.

"So you were about to spend Christmas in the drunk tank," she says later, sitting on the sofa with him, watching lazily the shining lights of the tree. "I didn't know you took Christmas songs so seriously."

"Yeah," he admits, sheepishly. "Are you still terribly angry?"

"Yes," she says. "You'll have a pissed off old lady to deal with, tomorrow morning. Apparently, she doesn't like the fact you left me there waiting for hours."

"I know, I'm sorry," he presses a kiss to her hair – and – maybe unwillingly, but she relaxes into his touch, his body so strong and warm and comforting. "So… this is your new temporary house? It's rather nice."

Regina freezes at that, not knowing what to answer.

"And what are you studying these days then, love? I thought you were going to move to Rome for these holidays. You never mentioned wanting to come here."

"I got tired of antiquities," she answers, hoping to sound detached enough. "And I wanted indoor plumbing, and centralized heating, and not having to hunt my own food… like… I did until recently," she adds. "Rome can wait. I have all the time in the world."

She closes her eyes, hoping, hoping with all her heart that he won't inquire further, that he'll accept these explanations and go on.

"Okay," he says, simply. "You got any plans for… well, tonight?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," she says, with a deep sigh. She revels into the warmth of his body, because she doesn't want to give up the sweeter comfort, not yet. _Not now_ , her heart begs, _he's just arrived. One more minute_. Just a minute, and then… but she can't, she can't delay any more.

So she tells him, "I do have plans, but… those plans don't include you."

" _What_?" she feels him tense, and closes her eyes, squeezes them, because she doesn't dare to look at him. "Regina, what are you saying?"

"I'm sorry, Robin," she says feebly. "You must do something now. Something that is in my past and is in your future, and happened to me long ago. And… I must give up this year's Christmas time." She feels him wait, and decides that she must be brave enough to look at him. So she props herself up and leaves him to sit beside him, and his eyes are hurt and sad when she meets his gaze.

"Robin… you must save my life. And go back when I fell on Earth."

.

Regina likes to think she's always been good at waiting, but this is a completely new kind of torture. Knowing that she could be with him and instead she gifted their precious time together to her younger self, that is torture. Perhaps it sounds stupid – he _has_ to go there after all, it's how their story started, it's how she spent the last months – in Finland, getting the house ready… and then she had a very brief parenthesis in the Middle Age during the plague, but that was before. Before all of this, before settling – she's been so busy and she kept herself occupied not to think about this day.

She has readied the gift to her younger self.

Babylon candles, she has made enough of them for herself to travel during the years that await her. The journals she has given to Robin for their Christmas in Alexandria. Instructions about her future, rules, money, clothes, letters.

And more instruction for Robin – that come from her memory: what he needs to do when he gets there, to the house she has kept ready for them, and how he needs to behave. _She'll be scared_ , she has written. _Treat her with kindness, but remember she's not me. Not yet._

Regina pulls open a bottle of wine and waits.

She sits on the sofa, dozing off every now and then, the journal open next to her. She has told Robin to let her know how it goes.

 _I found her. She's sleeping_ , his handwriting appears hours later. _I miss you even more than I did before. Having you here, and yet you're not you... not really_.

 _I know, she writes back. But we must endure this – I think having you there that day, having a safe haven to stay in, it saved me. In more ways than you can imagine_.

He doesn't answer – she supposes he has fallen asleep. With a sad smile, she closes her journal and pulls the blanket above her body. She thought sleep wouldn't come – she thought she'd be up for hours, wallowing about her sorrows, but unexpectedly – she doesn't. And she's asleep in minutes.

.

She spends Christmas alone – for the first time since she arrived on Earth, and she discovers that despite being alone for the most part of the year, a Christmas alone… unsettles her. She doesn't know what to do with herself. Granny's diner is closed, of course.

She goes to mass in the morning.

It's actually interesting – she isn't religious, and how could she be, considering who she is. But seeing the humans like this… it's bringing her peace. For a moment, her restless mind swirls back into some sort of tranquil state, she finds herself one to a trance-like status, her eyes wandering around and dancing with the fire of the candles.

A hand squeezes gently her forearm, and she looks up, shaking herself from her thoughts.

"Are you alright, dear?"

It's Granny – worried eyes are scanning her face, and Regina realizes Granny still thinks she's sad and alone and heartbroken. Which is true… in part.

"Oh yes, I am," she says, offering her a smile. "Sorry. I was actually… lost for a moment. And my… boyfriend…" the word tasted weird on her tongue, like ashes, as if it's just a minuscule particle of what they actually are – "he called, in the end. He's alright, and he apologizes, but his flight has been canceled, so… guess I won't see him for some time. So… it's just me this year." She forces a smile, praying that her tears won't fall. She sees Granny hesitate, and her granddaughter Ruby has suddenly stopped in the middle of the aisle, curiously looking at them.

"Alright," the old woman says, slowly, carefully. "if you're sure, darling. You're absolutely welcome to spend Christmas with us, you know."

Regina's heart flips and twists, filling with something she can't say she's used to. It's different from the love she feels for Robin – this is lighter and… purer, it's not dusted with the desire she has for him or the heartbreak that accompanies him. This is… actually comforting and sweet.

"Thank you," she whispers, trying not to cry. She fiddles with her gloved fingers, but shakes her head. "I think I'll just… just go. Take a walk and clear my mind. Thank you for the invitation, though," she tells her. "I appreciate it, so much, truly. I'm just… not in the right mood."

Granny nods, seeming saddened by her decision, but doesn't push. She wishes her Merry Christmas and goes, and Regina follows them out after a while – because she doesn't want last-minute pity, but she needs a moment. To clear hear head, and decide that it wasn't a mistake to come here.

.

She doesn't recall falling asleep again on her sofa – but she's awoken by a soft touch of familiar lips, lips she knows too well. His calming scent surrounds her in an instant, and she stirs lazily.

"Hi," she says, smiling. "All set?"

"All set," he confirms. "We still have a small hour for ourselves, my darling. Did you miss me terribly?"

She frowns, because the honest answer is yes, but she doesn't want to say it. It'll make him sad – and she doesn't want sadness for their last hour together. She stirs up, makes him sit next to her, and he pulls her to him, wordlessly, her legs end up on his lap.

And they end up kissing.

She doesn't know how – well, she has a pretty good idea after all, but soon she forgets all her thoughts and gets lost in the feeling. It's still early to say it – or it's too late, she thinks, her fingers tip-toeing in a barely-there caress on his hair. Shadows of grey are starting to color it, almost invisible to the human eyes, but the price of her immortality are sharpened senses and she closes her eyes not to see it, pressing her lips against his more forcefully.

And thinks that… what she wants to do – it's the right decision.

The newfound determination, the click she felt when she saw the tangible proof that Robin is aging, while she's staying behind, still, like an useless insect crystallized in amber – it gives the kiss a different turn, and he moans suddenly, undoubtedly he knows she has had some sort of new thoughts but he doesn't want to investigate. He whispers, "I can make good use of this hour if you want."

Regina shakes her head, doesn't give herself the time to ponder it. She doesn't want a rushed hour of sex… she wants hours of uninterrupted, blissful love, of them waking up together, tangled under the covers, and they wouldn't want to get up, five more minutes, and then someone would go make breakfast…

"What's on your mind, lovely?" he asks. "You're miles away."

"I know, I'm sorry," she says. "It's nothing. I'll probably write you a letter about it."

"Alright."

It's clear how he doesn't want to dampen the mood. So she proposes, "Now let's listen to some Christmas music and I'll go make hot chocolate. Let's not… think about it."

He brushes a lock of hair from her cheek and behind her ear, and smiles. "Do I get to hold you for a bit? Before I go?"

She kisses him, because she doesn't want to cry.

– § –

 _Regina runs through the forest, her feet bare, and it's dark and she can't see the sky. She can't see the stars. She can't see anything and this makes her nervous, her blood pumping, in a way she's not used to. She runs and runs, not knowing where she's about to end up – but the fact that this is a dream, that she clearly knows she's dreaming, it makes her feel like she's flying._

Stop, my child. You may rest. You've come where you needed to be.

 _The Moon speaks slowly, and Regina stops abruptly, finds out she's reached a clearing. She can look up, her gaze shots up, immediately relaxing when she sees the pale figure._

What do I have to do? _she asks, breathless._ How can I find a way to answer to my question?

You must find the knot that you're struggling with _, the Moon answers._ If you tie it, the knot will then give you what you want. I'd be sad to see you go, my darling. You know I don't offer my gifts so casually. But I love you too much to see you unhappy _._

 _Regina frowns, the Moon's words playing over and over in her head._

You will find a way, child. Remember, fear is your only enemy. But now, you must go. Next Christmas, I'll let you go _._

 _She stops speaking, and Regina stills, waiting. Then, sleep pulls her away, and she wakes with a jolt._

– § –

 _December 24th, 1988._

 _16:23._

 _Storybrooke, Maine_

 _44°14'21"N 69°02'49"W_

.

"You're late," she welcomes him, opening the door. "Come in, it's freezing out there."

Robin doesn't let her finish but kisses her – cups her cheeks with his gloved fingers, presses a kiss on her lips and laughs when she almost yells, "Oh _Gods_ , you little – you – you're so cold!"

"Sorry, love," he says, lifts his hands up in surrender, and then kisses her again, just a smooch, but she fails to keep up her frowning face as she smiles at him.

"I missed you," she tells him with affection. "Now go and warm up next to the fire, come on."

He complies, shaking snow off his boots and gingerly leaving them on the mat next to the door. Regina is already gone, and the whole house smells heavenly – there's a distinct scent of cookies in the air, they're most likely baking in the oven, and Robin could actually cry – it just feels right. To be here, where the whole place just feels like home.

He's only been here once, and just for a few hours, but even comparing it to last year, the amount of change this place has seen is astonishing. He admits he was surprised when he's seen the same coordinates as last year pop up on his bracelet. Every place where Regina has lived until now has felt more like a temporary refuge than a proper house – she's been like a homeless bird, flying from place to place, without being able to find her own, and his heart has ached for her. Now, he can feel her happiness vibrating in the air – an enormous difference if he thinks of last year, how she was first enraged with him, then saddened because he had to go away, and lose those hours she would have had the right to enjoy at their fullest.

"Robin?" she calls from the kitchen. "Just hurry up, if you want the cookies while they're still gooey."

.

They end up on her sofa, as always – as they did last time – and he finally relaxes, his belly full of the delicious lasagna she's made.

"Don't get used to it," she warns, plopping down next to him on the cushions, "I'm not some midwife from the fifties. Dreadful era, that one."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he tells her, amused. "So… what were you planning for the evening?" he passes his arm around her shoulders, kisses her hair and presses his nose there. His eyes close and he knows she's smiling. "Do you want to see if this time we'll actually make it to the bed?"

"Shut up," she laughs, turning, her face going to hide against his chest. "No. I have other plans, but we need to get dressed. Your stuff is in the wardrobe, I've cleaned up a good half for you."

"Get dressed for what, exactly?"

He expects her to move, to tell him something, maybe jokingly, but she doesn't. Instead, she burrows further and whispers, "I don't know if I should tell you. You'd run away. I should just get you in front of it and…"

"I'm not running away, Regina, I've just found you," he reasons. "I've waited for you for years, and believe me, those moments I spent with you were worth every single hour we had to spend apart. I just realized I never told you that… I'm in love with you, my darling."

She stills – he feels her tense up, her breath catching, and he passes a soothing hand up and down her back. Tries to reassure her, even though he can almost feel her heart beating so fast…

"You're what?" she mumbles against his chest.

"In love with you," he repeats, ever so patient.

She lifts her eyes, then, wide and open and disbelieving. "You… you are?"

Robin shakes his head, kisses her forehead. "You foolish woman," he tells her. "I thought it was clear as day. I'm in love with a star, yes, – and I know she cares for me, but – "

She shuts him up with a kiss, grabs his collar and gets him closer – he's actually struck by how different she is from her younger self – how young and innocent she was, and how passionate and warm this Regina is, melting into their kiss, he cups her head, fingers threading into her hair, and he doesn't think they will make it to the bed after all.

But then she starts laughing – why, he ignores, as he looks at her, puzzled. "What is it?"

Regina shakes her head, in a weird mixture of crying and laughing, presses her lips to his again. "I was going to ask you to do it – just to help me, and then I would have left you free to choose if you wanted to stay or not, but…" she looks deep into his eyes, so deep he can see fractions of stars shimmering in the brown of hers.

"Ask me… what?"

A beat. A deep breath, and there she goes.

"Robin, I was about to ask if you'll marry me."

She stays silent then, a breath, a heartbeat, and he feels himself starting to smile. "W-what?" he asks, dumbstruck. "Marry you?"

"Yes," she breathes, averting her eyes. "If – if we do it tonight, then I'm free. To grow old, to… be with you. To stay here. I like this town, and I loved the way my life has been until now – but… I'm tired, and I want to stop. I've been living for centuries, watching and watching and never getting to be part of it – immortals envy the humans, you know, because for us the most ephemeral smile is nothing but the beating of wings, and for you a smile can be everything – but – no, I want to stop. To lock the candles somewhere safe and to see my hair become grey and my skin get wrinkles, and I want to stay.

And if you'll have me, I want to stay here, with you.

To wake up with you every morning and find a boring human job and finally introduce you to my friends. And I want you every day, summer, spring, not just Christmas. And…"

"Regina."

She meets his eyes, at this point, and she stills.

"Yes?"

"Of course I will," he lets out. "Of course I will, you absolute fool, you infuriatingly wonderful woman. You could have told me right away. I can only imagine how nervous you were during dinner. So you thought you'd need to force me somehow?"

"I wasn't going to," she defends herself, an unwilling smile spreading through her face. "I was… just going to take a stroll around town and…"

"Why's that?"

"Because… I assumed you'd want to do it the right way," she says, confused. "The human way, with witnesses and all the rest. I'd have woken up my friends, someone, anyone…"

"There is no right way, love," he smiles. She's adorable, her nose scrunching up as she looks at him, and it's astonishing how young she looks, how beautiful and hesitant, and he can't believe she was afraid to ask him to do this. It's his fault. He –

"Then how will we do it?" Regina asks. "I bought you a tux, you know."

"And I'm sure it's wonderful, and that your dress is so die for, but we don't need any of that." He kisses her again, her lips, her forehead, as tenderly as he can, to chase away all doubts from her mind. "I want to set you free, my love. If that's really what you want."

She only nods, so he squeezes her hand, makes her get up and there they go, he leads her towards the window. It's facing the forest, and her backyard, but he doesn't care about it – the only things he cares about, is Regina's hand in his and the fact that they can see a full moon.

"We have a witness now," he tells her, motioning at the shining moon in the sky. He doesn't miss her expression, how touched she looks – that he remembered, that he accepted her as easily as she's saved his life and gave it a new meaning and purpose.

"All we need is something to tie the knot," she whispers. "But I don't…"

"Actually," he interrupts. "I may have something."

He rolls up his sleeve, and reveals a long and silvery piece of fabric, tied around his wrist, waiting to see a look of recognition draw on her face. "That was…"

"Part of your dress, from when I saved you," he smiles. "I kept a little souvenir."

Her eyebrow lifts, she's trying to hold a stern expression, but the corner of her lips tips up. "You mean stolen."

"You knew I was a thief when you met me," he answers, cockily – and it's not entirely true, but she nods, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Okay," she whispers. "Let's get married. And… thank you, for agreeing to this, Robin…"

"You don't have to thank me. I'll do it gladly," he says, taking her hand. "But only if you're completely sure. I know you asked me to, but…"

Regina gently places a finger on his lips, and murmurs, "I am certain. I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than face all the ages of this world alone. And doing this now, on our day… it's more than I hoped for."

He nods wordlessly, because who needs words when you have eons of wisdom and beauty in front of your eyes?

And she looks at him for a moment still, as if she wants to memorize his face, to imprint it into her memory forever, then she looks down and untangles the silver lace from his wrist. When she has a single free line, she takes his other hand, and ties their hands together, passes it above and then underneath, slowly, carefully. Her eyes avert to the Moon for a moment, then she goes back to him.

The word that exist from her mouth are not from this Earth. It sounds like a chant, like a long-forgotten song, as if he was remembering something long gone and hidden in the deepest corners of his mind. He watches, enraptured, and listen as she passes the lace up and then down with rhythmic movements – she looks at him, now silent, and whispers, "You have to consent now."

It's like he's forgotten how to speak, because his words are stuck in his throat and he stills, before remembering, and saying _I do_ with a quiet voice, as if he doesn't want to disturb her.

Regina smiles, of that smile he'll never get tired of, and she joins him into saying the same words. Then the chant continues, more brief now, he thinks, as he's hypnotized by the string of words that she's pronouncing. When she stops, he knows it's done.

"Well," Regina says, smiling up to him. "You may kiss the bride."

He doesn't waste time, lifts their joined hand to sink his own into her hair, and kisses her like he's never done before – with a care and together a passion she's brought to lean into the kiss and exchange it with equal intensity. He has his eyes closed, but then he feels her catch her breath and pull off – her eyes are terrified as she pulls away, stopped by their still laced hands, and starts breathing fast, so fast that he gets scared.

The hand that's touching hers feels warm, almost burning, as Regina doubles down with a pained sound, she blurts out –

"Robin, what – "

and falls to her knees, bringing him down with her.

And –

she's glowing.

Her skin is translucent, shining of an internal otherworldly light, her eyes open, scared, and most importantly full on bright, luminous of gold and silver. He crouches down, trying to touch her, but she pushes him away. He can still feel how much she's burning, her hand is giving him only a fraction of her pain. She screams, and he thinks he's screaming too as a violent light flashes in the room – from her, he realizes, it came from her body and made him blind for an instant.

When he's able to open his eyes and see, she's still there, panting, still down on the floor.

"Regina, are you alright?" he asks, frantically checking her for visible injuries, his hand roaming her hair, her arms, his other hand squeezing hers even though he's burned himself. "Are you hurt? Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine," she says, still breathless. "I… I think I'm not a star anymore."

"What?"

But now there's tears streaming down her cheeks, she's smiling with relief and finally, finally he sees her completely unburdened, for the first time in his life – because she's free.

"I lost my immortality," she tells him, even though she doesn't need to, he can see it – there's a certain new light in her eyes, and she's glowing. Not of power – she's most likely lost her powers, the fast healing, the tremendous abilities for anything she puts her mind into – but she's glowing of happiness.

Robin finds he doesn't know what to say – so really, he holds her into his arms as the Moon shines quietly – she let go of her child, and he couldn't be more grateful for that, for the gift they've been given. Their hands are still joined when he lifts her up, and he honestly doesn't know if this time they'll finally make it to a bed.

– § –

 _December 24th, 1990._

 _19:56._

 _Storybrooke, Maine_

 _44°14'21"N 69°02'49"W_

"So how was the trip to Rome?" Ruby inquires, lifting her glass to her lips. "A bit weird, to go during winter, but…"

"I've always wanted to see Rome under the snow," Regina replies, as Robin passes an arm around her shoulders and she leans into him. Their fingers intertwine next to her heart, as he places his hand on her thigh. "It was beautiful. Caesar was a bit of a dick, though."

Ruby eyes her with a confused, smiling expression, but she's gotten used to her quirk sentences – and she doesn't even suspect that Regina is serious.

"Well come and help me, girl, we don't have all day," Granny huffs from the kitchen. (She has taken hold of the fort like a conqueror, and even though Regina doesn't like to share her kitchen, she has gladly let the lady do the honors.)

"Guess I'll better go and help the old bat," Ruby huffs, with a smile that sweetens the epithet and doesn't leave doubts about her affection for her grandma. "I'll leave you two lovebirds to a bit of peace and quiet before the others arrive."

When they're alone, Regina closes her eyes, and listens to Robin's heartbeat, the brightness of the Christmas lights filtering through her eyes. _The others_. How sweet is that word, for someone who has been so alone for so long, how wonderful it is to share this day with a group of friends who are quickly becoming her family.

"You alright, love?"

She nods, as he presses a kiss to the crown of her hair – the shouts and yells from the kitchen fading into a low murmur, leaving them in their little private bubble of happiness. "I was just thinking…"

"Thinking of what?"

"Of what to do next. You know the Time Agency has given me a fake birth certificate and all that… but I don't know what I want to be, what I want to do for the days I have left." She turns slightly, to meet his eyes. "I only know I want you by my side. The rest will come."

"And I don't intend to go anywhere. But, Regina… don't you want to take a peek at your future?" he slides the pocket watch out, its golden exterior now a bit scratched and worn .

She shakes her head, her hand closing above the watch, above his own. "It'll be a surprise," she whispers. "No future, from now on. But… I wouldn't be opposed to another little escapade like the last trip we had, even if it'll have to be in a little while. After all…" her gaze looks down, to the tiny bundle she holds in her arms. "This one will be a unique adventure all on his own."

Henry stirs, his pink lips opening slightly as a little bubble pops out.

"Such a lucky boy, that one," Granny says, entering the room. "Look at you lot. What a wonderful sight – it's like you were born to be together."

"We were the lucky ones, to get him," Robin says, and his cheek presses against her hair as they both watch him – where he gently moves a little hand, still asleep. Regina holds him closer, feels his tiny hand envelop around one of her fingers, and smiles.

Born to be together, indeed.

.

 _A mysterious song falls from golden stars. As if to music, as if to peace._

 _._

– § –

 _fin_


End file.
